


A Soul Submerged in Sleep

by qaffangyrl



Series: That Such Men Lived [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, First Kiss, Gay Bucky Barnes, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Misunderstanding about Sexual Orientation, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Roommates, Shuri is a BAMF for figuring out how to deprogram Bucky, Snap? what Snap?, Top Bucky Barnes, Trigger Word Bingo, WWII, canon compliant if you believe Stucky is for real, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qaffangyrl/pseuds/qaffangyrl
Summary: The story of how Bucky Barnes fell in love with Steve Rogers before, during and after the War, but not necessarily in that order.“I’m an old man, Doc. Tell it to me again like I’m a hundred.” Bucky could feel fatigue set into his bones.Before Shuri could answer Steve explains, “The trigger words are connected to significant events in your life. Shuri will have to sort through all your thoughts and memories to find the codes and remove them.” The concern on Bucky’s face forces Steve to add, “It’s possible she’ll get a looksee at everything in that thick noggin of yours.”





	1. CH 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is drawn from this quote: 
> 
> "Even a soul submerged in sleep is hard at work and helps make something of the world."  
> \- Heraclitus, Fragments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shuri is a boss... 
> 
> _“How long was I out?”_
> 
> _Before Steve can answer Shuri walks up and replies, “One hundred and eighty-four days. And I am happy to say that in that time my team and I have developed a plan that we have every confidence will free you of the mental programming you’ve been forced to endure all these years.”_
> 
> _Bucky looks to Steve for reassurance. He’ll be able to tell in Steve’s eyes whether or not he can trust this news. When Bucky sees what can only be described as hope on Steve’s face Bucky sighs in relief, cautious though it may be. “So what, do you just zap me with some of the new fangled tech you got in this place?” Bucky’s tone keeps the situation light as he gives the lab a practiced once over, clocking the exits, noting any objects that can be used in a defensive maneuver- both grateful for and exhausted from his continued hypervigilance._

CH 1

December 2016. Birnin Zana, Wakanda- The Capital City

Bucky keeps his eyes closed as he fights his way back to consciousness. The room smells different. No hints of mold or mildew. Perhaps the scent of a mild cleaner? And is that a citrus of some sort? He’s not cold, which is unusual, considering that coming out of cryo usually includes what he can only describe as the lingering pain of a full body brain-freeze. No. This time he’s warm, dry and comfortable even. Strange. 

He’s not alone. He can feel the heat of a person standing next to his gurney. A handler? Perhaps a technician? No. Someone familiar. Someone safe. A hand rests on his shoulder. The solid, tenderness of the touch tells Bucky, in an instant, who it is. “Steve?” 

“Hey there, Buck.” Bucky opens his eyes to see that goofy lopsided grin that grabbed first grabbed his heart nearly a century ago. “Did you sleep well?” A silly question really, stasis wasn’t sleep, but it’s a shorthand that only two people who’ve spent decades on ice can use. Still, Bucky instinctively does a wellness inventory. No pain of injury, no aches. No undercurrent of panic. 

“Like a log,” Bucky replies, a touch of a smirk on his lips. He then surveys Steve’s appearance. Dark circles under his eyes, too much sun on his cheeks and the start of a scruffy beard. “Better than you, it looks. Is that facial hair regulation, soldier?” Bucky asks in a playfully mocking tone. 

Steve snorts a small laugh, “Gotta blend in these days. Nat’s teaching us tradecraft.” 

She learned from the best, Bucky thinks to himself. “How long was I out?” 

Before Steve can answer Shuri walks up and replies, “One hundred and eighty-four days. And I am happy to say that in that time my team and I have developed a plan that we have every confidence will free you of the mental programming you’ve been forced to endure all these years.” 

Bucky looks to Steve for reassurance. He’ll be able to tell in Steve’s eyes whether or not he can trust this news. When Bucky sees what can only be described as hope on Steve’s face Bucky sighs in relief, cautious though it may be. “So what, do you just zap me with some of the new fangled tech you got in this place?” Bucky’s tone keeps the situation light as he gives the lab a practiced once over, clocking the exits, noting any objects that can be used in a defensive maneuver- both grateful for and exhausted from his continued hypervigilance. 

“It is a bit more complex than just a “zap” But with all the data and equipment Captain Rogers and his crew have been able to procure on Soviet era psychotronic mind control methodologies I was able to simulate and thoroughly test a deprogramming protocol. I am now certain I will be able to remove the activation code from your psyche without risking damage to your memory- to what makes you, you.” Shuri’s expression is confident. But Bucky’s gut tells him the other shoe is about to drop. 

“Out with it, Doc. What aren’t you telling me?” Bucky’s swagger belies his mounting anxiety. He notices the quick, silent exchange between Shuri and Steve. 

“Buck,” Steve begins in the somewhat infuriating ‘Captain America’ voice he uses when he is trying to handle someone, “We woke you up because, before Shuri gets started, we need your consent.”

Shuri cuts in, “Yes. You see Sergeant Barnes, while the series of procedures are what you Westerners would call non-invasive, it is brain surgery. I will be using my holographic chamber to travail your mind so I can extract the portions that Hydra infected.”

“I’m an old man, Doc. Tell it to me again like I’m a hundred.” Bucky could feel fatigue set into his bones.  
Before Shuri could answer Steve explains, “The trigger words are connected to significant events in your life. Shuri will have to sort through all your thoughts and memories to find the codes and remove them.” The concern on Bucky’s face forces Steve to add, “It’s possible she’ll get a looksee at everything in that thick noggin of yours.” 

A moment passes before Bucky asks, “You mind if I get second alone with the Doc, Steve?” 

“Sure thing, Pal,” Steve answers with a nearly imperceptible flash of disappointment across his face. “I’ll be right outside the lab.” Steve gives Bucky’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. He hadn’t broken contact since they brought him out of stasis. “But just so you know, you don’t have anything to worry about. The king gave us sanctuary and full immunity. We’re both safe here.” 

Bucky nods and watches as Steve steps out of the room. 

Shuri helps Bucky sit up on the gurney. He balances himself against her surprising strength.

“Sergeant, I assure you, whatever I might encounter as I survey your mind I am duty bound to keep confidential, even from my brother.” 

Bucky nods, he hopes the expression on his face seems grateful. 

“Is it something else?” 

“My life before Hydra.” 

“Yes?” 

Bucky can’t bring himself to look at her. He feels an old shame, one that he carried long before he became a killer. “Does doctor-patient confidentiality extend to private information you might see about people other than me?” 

“Well certainly, but being that it was so many years ago-“ 

Bucky cuts in, “I don’t want anything you find to cause Steve more problems. Can you promise me that? The idiot’s given up too much for me already.” 

Shuri sighs, “Ah. I see.”

Bucky doubts it. But he listens as she continues.

“Well, please let me reassure you, my only goal is put your mind back in your control. Captain Rogers trusts me. I hope you can too?” 

“Steve really wants me to do this?” Still dumb as a bag of bricks, Bucky thinks. 

“He wants you to have a future, one that is your own. That is all he has asked for.”

“A future. Right. Well give me those consent forms so we can get on with this.”  
** *


	2. CH 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky gets his first look at Steve's post-serum body: 
> 
>  
> 
> _Steve is still his Steve, as far as Bucky can tell. And that’s all that matters to him. If circumstances were different, Bucky might say just that_

CH 2 

November 1943. London, England – St Ermin Hotel - SSR Headquarters 

Bucky has to admit, the SSR officers’ quarters are some pretty swanky digs. Though, anything would look like Buckingham Palace compared to where Hydra had kept him. The room— compared to the rest of the hotel that’s doubling as a covert allied powers operating station— isn’t anything special. But, it has a clean wash basin, an old Victrola, a double bed with soft sheets and a thick blanket. For Bucky, that’s luxury. He thumbs through a stack of 78s and finds a Glen Miller that had hit the charts not long before Bucky had shipped out. He pulls the record from its sleeve and handles it with the gentlest touch as he sets it on the turntable, turns the crank and then places the needle right in the groove. The first few measures of “Moonlight Serenade” play just as Steve enters the room with a bottle in his hand.

“Compliments of Sergeant Dugan. I don’t know how he managed it. But apparently, this is genuine Kentucky Bourbon. It’s supposed to be the best.” Bucky takes the bottle from Steve’s hand considering the weight of liquid.

“I don’t care if it’s rotgut,” Bucky replies as he pops the cork, “as long as it erases what was left of Schmidt’s face from my brain I’ll be happy.” He takes a long swig, ignoring the drink’s oaky sweetness. As a child of prohibition he’d never learned to appreciate alcohol for it’s taste. He offers the bottle to Steve who waves it away. Bucky downs a healthy bit more before setting the bourbon on the chest of drawers. “Don’t tell Dum Dum, but I think this stuff is watered down. I’m barely feeling it.” 

“Hmm. I was hoping it would help you sleep.” Steve grimaces. “You could use the rest, pal.” 

“You think I let you sneak me in here so I could get some shut eye?” Bucky smirks. “No way. I’m here for inspection, Charles Atlas. Let me get a look at what those mad scientists did to you.” 

Steve cheeks redden, but he dutifully strips down to his Army issue skivvies. 

Bucky has known every inch of Steve Rogers’ body for the better part of a decade. Now though, it’s as if he’s standing in front of one of those marble statues in the antiquities exhibit at the Met. “Geez Steve,” Bucky begins incredulously, “You could give the Coney Island strong man a run for his money.” 

Steve sheepishly surveys his own arms and torso, “I’ll understand if I’m not… if you don’t…” 

Bucky silences Steve by taking his hand and inspecting the width and length of his fingers. “Your hands are different. Can you still draw?” 

“Yeah.” Steve responds in a near whisper, “I try to sketch something every day to keep my skills up.” 

Satisfied with the answer Bucky begins to trace his thumb over Steve’s lips. “You still crack wise and get yourself into trouble with that mouth of yours?” 

Steve huffs a small laugh. “The serum hasn’t helped me learn keep my trap shut if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Bucky nods approvingly as he steps closer into Steve’s space. And for the first time ever, he has to tilt his head up a bit, as he places a ghost of a kiss next to Steve’s eye. “You still see the good in people? Even dumb lugs like me?” 

“Even dumb lugs like you,” Steve affirms.

“Then, I guess you pass muster.” Bucky offers resolutely. Steve is still his Steve, as far as Bucky can tell. And that’s all that matters to him. If circumstances were different, Bucky might say just that. But, they aren't sweethearts. They're pals who’d let their hands wander under a shared blanket on occasion. It’s not like they wore each other’s pin. It’s not like they could tell anyone they're each other’s fella. It’s not like Bucky ever could admit to even himself that this was anything more than a pleasurable vice. While both men have courage in spades, neither have the strength to be honest about their feelings for each other. So, Bucky’s only option is to lean in to the game they’ve been playing for years in hopes of stealing a few moments with Steve. “I suppose you expect a commendation for your service above and beyond the call of duty?” 

With a shrug Steve answers, “I was only doing what anyone who can run 30 miles an hour and lift 2100 pounds would do.”

“Watch it, punk,” Bucky answers with feign disapproval as he sloughs off his jacket, “You don’t want to over sell it before we have a chance to test your stamina and endurance.” He then waves his hand toward the bed and says, “After you, Captain.” 

Bucky intends to take his time. He wants to map every new strong curve and hard edge that had replaced Steve’s once fragile, sinewy frame. However, their longing overcomes them both. So, they make quick work of bringing each other to completion with swift and breathless strokes. It’s both strange and familiar. But Bucky’s brain isn’t processing anything except Steve’s hand on him and the weight of Steve’s cock in his own grip. They’ve barely finished when suddenly, Bucky is reliving the feeling of being strapped to Zola’s table. A sharp, anguished sound fights its way out of Bucky’s lips. As if Steve had been ready for it, he pulls Bucky into his arms tight. “It’s okay Buck. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.” 

***

At 0630 they’re both still asleep. Daybreak is just starting to peak around the edges of the thick hotel room drapes. Bucky’s eyes flitter open as he hears a nearly inaudible click. He’s somehow able to register the sound and take cover under the bed before a young Corporal walks through the door. 

“Captain?” the man asks, “I’m sorry to disturb you but Colonel Phillips wants you to debrief him on Schmidt’s base, ASAP. He moved your meeting up to 0700."

“Understood.” Bucky hears Steve reply. “I’ll be downstairs in fifteen.” 

“I took the liberty of ordering some coffee for you,” the corporal waits a beat then continues. “Should I tell them to bring up two cups?” 

Silence, except for the sound of Bucky’s heart pounding in his chest, as he sees his uniform jacket in a crumple on the floor. The rest of his clothes are thankfully hidden from view next the night stand on far side of the bed. 

“No.” Steve finally says in response, nothing more. 

A jacket left behind could easily be explained away. Bucky resorts to internally begging Steve to make some sort of excuse about the orphaned garment. 

Then, just when Bucky is certain their goose is cooked the hears the corporal say, “Of course. And Captain, I just want to say thank you. My older brother is with the 107th. I got word last night that you rescued him. So… So, no matter what,” the implication in his tone was obvious, “I’m in your debt.”

Bucky can hear the relief in Steve’s voice when he replies. “No debts, we’re all just doing our part. I’ll see you downstairs, Corporal.” 

When Bucky is certain the coast is clear he crawls out from under the bed to find Steve sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. “That was close,” Steve says with a deep exhale. 

Bucky sinks down on the to the mattress nest to Steve. “Too, close, buddy. Too. Close.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the song Moonlight Serenade: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjq1aTLjrOE
> 
> Oh and BTW the St Ermin Hotel was a real secret based for the allied forces during WWII.


	3. CH 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get complicated... 
> 
>  
> 
> _“Look Steve. You know what I am. You’ve known since that summer at my Aunt Ida’s farm in Pennsylvania. And you’re smart enough to know how things end up for fellas like me. It doesn’t have to be that way for you. You’re not like me.”_

Ch 3 

December 1943. Liechtenstein - Forst-Hilti Railway Station (Secret Hydra Base)

Against the odds, Steve had led the Howlies on yet another successful mission. One more Hydra stronghold was wiped off the map. Everyone is in good spirits despite their exhaustion. So much so that Steve forgets his band of brothers have limitations that he himself doesn’t. “Good work, men. We’re only twenty klicks from the rendezvous. Let’s pack up and head out.” 

Dum Dum steps up behind Steve and whispers, “Cap, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, how about we have chow then catch a few winks and head out at dawn. Me and the boys are wiped.” 

“Great idea, Dugan. As long as you’re not the one cooking,” Steve responds lightly.

“Worry not, gentleman,” Falsworth breaks in, “I’ll see to this evening’s nourishments. And perhaps I’ll finally be able to teach this brood how to properly hold their knives and forks.” 

Dernier chatters away in French before Jones translates with a chuckle, “He says, he’ll eat your franks and beans but he draws the line at lessons in table manners.” 

“I second that!” Morita laughs.

Later, as Bucky keeps watch at the perimeter he finds himself impressed by how jovial the men had all been despite the fact that earlier that day, they were in a fight for their lives. He’s never able to shake it as easily. As the 107th’s former designated marksman Bucky had grown accustomed to being away from the thick of it in favor of a concealed position. But Steve draws from his back-alley brawls when he develops a battle plan. He’s never been one for subterfuge. He always wants to stand right in front of his enemy and go toe-to-toe. It doesn’t bother Bucky, as long as he can keep an eye on Steve. That shield of his can’t stop every Hydra scum. So, Bucky is more than willing to bat clean-up for the Captain.

A quick succession of whistles signal that a friendly is approaching and Bucky turns to see Falsworth with the evening rations in hand. 

“Dinner’s served, Sergeant,” Falsworth announces in his typical good-natured manner, “And might I interest you in some spirits, as well?” He hands Bucky the mess kit and a flask.

Bucky takes a seat on a nearby log and digs in to the meal. He can never seem to get rid of a lingering hunger. When he notices that Falsworth hasn’t left he asks, “cat got your tongue?” 

“No, it’s just, might I have a word?” 

Bucky gestures to the log. Falsworth sits next to him and clears his throat before stating, “I attended boarding school.”

Bucky doesn’t follow so with a mouth full of food he simply raises his eyebrows in a questioning motion. 

Slightly flustered, Falsworth adjusts his beret before continuing. “Yes, you see at boarding schools, it’s not altogether uncommon for two boys to become particularly fond of each other. They may even engage in some harmless, adolescent exploration.” 

This is not good. Bucky cannot figure out where it’s coming from. Yes. He is a queer but he has always been able to pass for normal. And Steve is different. He’s been sweet on several girls over the years, even if he could barely string two words together to talk to them. Maybe that Corporal from the hotel room had spilled the beans after all? It is all Bucky can guess because he’s made certain not to let himself be alone with Steve since the Howling Commandos had formed.

He decides his best course of action is to play dumb, “That so?” He holds his cards close to his vest, trying to mask any emotion that might be a tell. 

It doesn’t slow Falsworth down. “Yes, and while custom dictates that one should turn a blind eye such things, relationships of that sort must come to an end when young men reach maturity. To have it any other way would be, in a word, criminal.”

Bucky sets down his metal plate and stands in front of Falsworth. His tone is measured and he opts to let his size alone be a source of intimidation. “You gotta accusation to make, Jim? Cuz if you do, choose your words carefully.” 

Falsworth hold his hands up in a mollifying gesture, “Not an accusation, just an observation. We’ve all spent a great deal of time together. And over the last few weeks I’ve noticed more than the occasional stolen glance between you and the Captain. If I were a betting man I’d say the two of you pine for each other.” 

Bucky takes a play from Steve’s book and remains silent at the suggestion. 

“I don’t mean to imply that such behavior would earn the two of you a blue ticket, it’s just. Well, the Captain plays an invaluable role in the allies’ propaganda efforts as much as he does, here, in the field. Might I suggest he take a more active part in crafting a narrative that could shore up certain expectations, for morale on your home-front. And for King and Country on mine?” Falsworth holds up the latest edition of Stars & Stripes. The cover features a group photo of the SSR leadership and Falsworth taps his finger on the image of Peggy Carter. “She certainly showed an interest in the Captain at the pub the other night. That’s an opportunity one can exploit, if I do say so.” 

Bucky takes a deep breath. Right now, the only thing that is important is preserving Steve’s reputation. As much as he wants to knock Falsworth’s block off Bucky manages to restrain himself. “You shovel this shit with the others?” 

“I haven’t breathed so much as a word. I came directly to you. No one else.” 

“Keep it that way,” Bucky replies with growl as he snatches the newspaper. “I’ll take care of this.” 

Hours later, after Jones relieves him, Bucky makes way back to the where the rest of the Howlies have hunkered down. He walks up to Dum Dum as he’s putting out the campfire, “Ya seen Cap?"

“His tent went up in smoke with some of the gear we lost in the fight. He’s bunking in there.” Dum Dum points to an old freight car that’s missing its several of its wheels, “I offered him ours, but Mother Theresa wouldn’t hear of taking shelter away from enlisted men, even his Sergeants’.” 

“That’s why it’s his ugly mug on commemorative war bonds, not ours,” Bucky chuckles through a forced smile. 

Dum Dum tosses a blanket to Bucky. “His bedroll didn’t make it either. Morita had an extra in with the med pack.

Bucky grabs the weather worn fabric with a nod of thanks, “You better not be snoring when I get back if you don’t want a kidney punch.” 

“Try it, Barnes. I dare ya!” Dum Dum replies with a hearty laugh. 

Bucky isn’t surprised in the least to find Steve wide awake when he reaches the freight car. The torso and sleeves of his suit are hanging at his waist. The freezing weather seemingly has no effect on him. That doesn’t stop Bucky from falling into old habits. 

“For Christ’s sake, Steve. You’re gonna catch your death! You wanna spend another winter with pneumonia or somethin’?”

The look Steve gives Bucky is so sweet he can barely stand it. 

“Aw Buck. You don’t have to worry about that anymore. My lungs and heart are as strong as the rest of me. No more midnight runs for the doctor and the priest.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, all these years I spent trying to keep you from ending up six feet under and now you’re going to outlive me.” 

“Not if I’m the trouble magnet you always say I am.” Steve volleys. Despite the morose conversation, he’s in a good mood. Bucky can tell. So, he keeps the conversation light for a moment longer.

“Maybe we’ll both make it to a hundred. Usher in the next century. Even see those flying cars Stark bragged about building?” 

“That’d be something else,” Steve agrees. “You and me, heads full of gray hair, sitting together in rocking chairs on the front porch.” Wistfully, he continues, “Like an old, married couple.” 

The words are a gut punch, especially in this moment. But it doesn’t stop Bucky. It takes all his effort and nonetheless he chides, “Steve. This has got to stop.” 

“What?” 

“Us. This.” Bucky indicates with the blanket in his hand. “We’re not kids anymore.” 

Just as Steve tries to step forward Bucky steps back. Steve sounds wrecked when he asks, “Why?” 

Bucky pulls the folded newspaper from his back pocket and hands it to Steve. Peggy’s face is front and center on the page, “Because you’ve finally got a shot at normal life. And if we don’t quit now it’ll muck up everything for you.” 

“What about you?” Steve pleads. 

“Look Steve. You know what I am. You’ve known since that summer at my Aunt Ida’s farm in Pennsylvania. And you’re smart enough to know how things end up for fellas like me. It doesn’t have to be that way for you. You’re not like me.” 

“Yes I am.” 

“Tell me you’re not carrying a torch for Carter.” Bucky counters. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Steve Rogers is the most stubborn man Bucky’s ever known. 

The evidence of Steve’s feelings for Peggy sit on his shoulders as he rears back in the slightest of motions. 

Bucky’s voice hitches. “I thought so. You can have a future with her. She can give you what I can’t.” 

“If you were going to end it this way. Why did we ever start? Tell me that, Buck.” 

“Because.” Bucky stops. Is he really going to say these words out loud? Fuck it, he thinks. Maybe the truth of it will shake some sense in to Steve. Bucky pushes down his own heartbreak and he lets anger take over. “Because before the serum, everyone said you weren’t gonna make it to age thirty! Did you ever, once, look at your countless 4F forms? And I knew. Better than I know anything, that you would never marry girl just to make her a widow with a baby like your father did to your mom.” 

The stunned look on Steve’s face just eggs Bucky on. “When you found out about me, I was sure you were going to tell me to take a long walk off a short pier. But when you didn’t, instead of just being relieved, I was selfish— especially when I realized I had turned your head my way. And you know what? You ate it up! Because someone, anyone, was finally giving you the time of day.” Bucky hates himself for the venom in his words but, Steve has to hear it. It’s the only way. 

Bucky has never seen Steve cry. Not even on the day he buried his mother. But now tears are silently streaming down the Captain’s face. 

It’s all too much. Bucky can’t take it. He decides he has to sooth the blow. “Steve, since the day we met when you were nine years old, all I have ever done is give everything I can to keep you safe. That’s what I’m doing now. That’s what I’ll keep doing until the second I die. So please, give it a shot with her. You owe me that.”

Steve wipes his face and nods. “On one condition.” 

“Name it.” Apparently, there was no fight left in either of them.

“Stay here with me tonight.” 

“Steve.” 

“Not to do anything, let’s just keep each other from freezing?” 

Bucky nods. 

They silently they find a spot against the wall next to some old burlap and hunker down under the blanket. Steve slings an arm over Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky appreciates the warmth as he tries not to think about how this may very well be the last time he has a chance to sleep next to Steve. “Hand me your compass.” 

“Going somewhere?”

“Give it, punk.” 

Steve reaches into his pocket and passes the compass to Bucky. 

Bucky opens it and then takes newspaper from the knapsack where Steve had tucked it away. Carefully, Bucky tears the paper in a small circle around Peggy’s face. He places the image in the lid of the compass, closes it and hands it back to Steve. “She’s your true north. But don’t worry, Steve. I’ve always got your six.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we visit highschool!Bucky 
> 
> _Bucky knows for certain he’s not normal on Homecoming weekend during his junior year of high school...[he] likes kissing girls and though he doesn’t have a lot of experience he’s pretty sure he’s good at it. But this, this is a lot.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay warning here: This chapter has a brief het scene. It's the only one. But as you'll notice Bucky has Steve on his mind whole time.

October 1933 – Brooklyn, New York 

Bucky knows for certain he’s not normal on Homecoming weekend during his junior year of high school. It begins on Saturday morning at the alumni/student exhibition wrestling match. As a sophomore, Bucky had led the district in near falls and pins for the 132 weight class. But, over the summer he’d shot up six inches and put on over twenty pounds. This year, he’s still getting used to his larger stature. His balance hasn’t been on point, but Coach has assured him he’d find his footing before the regular season begins next month. 

Today’s match is a celebration. The 1931 All-State team is back to relive their former glory. Now that Bucky is up to 151 he’s paired with alumnus and former team captain, Brock McCoy. The boy who’d had an undefeated season when Bucky was a freshman. That year, Bucky and Steve had attended nearly every match. Steve was excited to use the opportunity to practice his figure drawing. He’d chattered on about bodies in motion and dynamic musculature. Bucky had been excited by Brock’s speed, precision and sportsmanship. He’d always helped his opponents up, made sure they were okay and had concluded each match with a hearty handshake and pat on the back. While his teammates took great pride in their victories, Brock always remained humble. 

Bucky looked up to the older boy, he still does. Brock is a role model. He’s the reason Bucky had joined the wrestling team in the first place. But now, Brock’s a grown man, married, with a wife who’s expecting, sitting in the stands cheering him on. There’s nothing boyish about Brock and Bucky notices. 

Bucky’s standing crouched and facing Brock in first position- knees bent, feet shoulder length apart, arms wide and thrust forward at the ready. Brock smiles and gives him an encouraging nod. The whistle blows and before Bucky even has time to think, he’s on his back. Stunned, he looks up at Brock who’s staring at him with a look of concern. 

“You still got your wind in ‘ya, kid?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Bucky concedes, embarrassed to have been out maneuvered so easily. The whistle blows and the ref issues Brock his points. Bucky scrambles up to his hands and knees, taking the bottom position readying himself for the referee to start the second period. It’s when Brock takes hold behind Bucky one arm wrapped around his lower abdomen while taking a firm grip on Bucky’s shoulder with the other hand that Bucky feels it. Bucky’s getting hard. Yes, he’s wearing a jock strap but it’ll do little to help hide the situation. 

So, in a near panic, he taps out and says, “Actually, I think I pulled something. Sorry.” 

The ref blows a 90 second time out whistle as Bucky, runs in a middled over posture, to the locker room. He knows he’ll have to forfeit, but it is just an exhibition after all. 

It’s not long before Coach finds him sitting hunched over on one of wooden benches by the showers. “Barnes? You mind telling me what happened out there?” 

“Sorry Coach.” Bucky can feel the blush on his neck and cheeks. He must be beet red. If he says he’s hurt the Coach will call for the school nurse and that will send his humiliation to new heights. He bends forward more, arms wrapped around his stomach. Maybe if he says it’s something he ate? 

The coach sighs and sits down next to Bucky. “Son, I’ve been a wrestling coach for nearly twenty-five years. You think I haven’t seen this before?” 

Bucky looks up at the coach trying to quell the inner panic of the moment. As calmly as he possibly can, Bucky asks, “What’d’ya mean, Coach?”

With a grimace the coach responds, “Let me ask you a serious question. And I want you to think hard before you answer.”   
“Okay” Bucky says, a cautious hedge in his tone. 

“You wanna wear a dress?” 

“What? No!” Bucky replies, genuinely scandalized at the idea. 

“You gotta itch to spend time down on the docks looking to trade?” Bucky knew what the coach was talking about. As foreman, Bucky’s father had had to use union dues to bail out a few his fellow dock workers when they’d been rounded up as johns during a prostitution bust. Everyone knew young women worked the docks trading sex for pocket change. And though it went unspoken, and was hardly even acknowledged, young men were known to trade as well. 

“No coach, I don’t want to do that. I swear it.” Bucky replies earnestly. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation. 

“Then you got nothing to worry about. You’re a teenage boy. Friction is friction. When you got hands groping you it’s no wonder you pop a little wood. It happens. Just take a cold shower before and after each match and during think of your grandma squeezing into her girdle. Trust me. You’ll be fine.” 

That evening, Bucky tries to shake the day’s events from his mind as he gets dressed for the homecoming dance. He finally fits into one of his dad’s old suits and while it’s a few years out of fashion Bucky still looks exceptionally sharp. And he needs to. He’s taking out the prettiest girl in the school. Darla Davies. Long blond hair, curves in all the right places and best of all she’s an incredible dancer. He doesn’t know her well. But when word got out that her college boyfriend broke it off with her Bucky swooped in. It wasn’t too difficult. Although she is beautiful and a senior, she stands five-ten. And now that Bucky has just reached six foot he’s one of the few boys in school who she’d even consider. Girls do not date shorter boys. It simply is not done. 

The only damper on the evening is that Steve isn’t coming. He and Bucky had planned to go stag together. But then Steve came down with a fever that won’t seem to go away and Mrs. Rogers had passed along the message that Bucky should look for a date and go have a good time. 

Bucky is really looking forward to dancing with Darla. But Darla, though polite, has been visibly upset from the moment Bucky picked her up. He’s even borrowed his dad’s Oldsmobile, but that doesn’t seem to impress her. “Would you like some punch?” He asks after she makes it plain that she doesn’t want to cut a rug. 

“Maybe just some fresh air?” She replies with a sad smile. 

“Sure thing, Doll.” Bucky responds. He gently places his hand in the small of her back and lead her out. Stopping only to open the door for her. 

They walk from the gym over to the main building and take a seat together on the front steps of the school. Bucky nudges her shoulder slightly, “You seem awful blue, Blue Eyes. Anything I can do to turn that frown upside down?” 

Darla gives a half-hearted giggle at his charm, “You really are the bee’s knees, Bucky. Any girl would be lucky to catch your eye.” 

“Hmm. Then why do I feel like I’m about to get the brush-off?” He leans in and give her a playful waggle of his eyebrows in an effort to make her laugh. It works. 

“Oh Gee, Bucky. It’s not that at all! Like I said, you’re aces. Truly. I just got some bad news this morning. I know I shouldn’t mope. It’s just… It’s just… I’m so darn mad I could spit!” 

Surprised by her sudden outburst Bucky asks, “What happened?”

“You remember, Bill Jenkins. My steady from last year?” 

“Yeah?” 

“He’s engaged. Not even two months away at college and he gives some girl his pin!” 

Seeing that Darla’s mood is worsening Bucky attempts ease the situation. “Well a pin is just a promise, right? Not an actual engagement.” 

“Yeah, well he promised me plenty. And gave me a lot less than his pin.” Darla stands up and faces Bucky, “In fact, he shouldn’t be the only one to get what I gave him.” 

“How’s that?” Bucky stands as he asks. 

Darla leans in and huskily whispers, “Take me back to your car.” 

“You wanna go home?” Bucky asks, disappointed. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

***

Bucky likes kissing girls and though he doesn’t have a lot of experience he’s pretty sure he’s good at it. But this, this is a lot. He’s lying in the back seat of his father’s Oldsmobile and Darla’s straddled across his lap. As she unbuttons the front of her dress she asks, “You haven’t done this before, have you?” 

There’s no point in lying. She’ll find out soon enough that Bucky has no idea what he’s doing so he honestly shakes his head, “No.” in response. She is older, after all. And she had a steady boyfriend for three years. Why shouldn’t she have more experience? 

Darla smiles as she lifts herself up and shimmies out of her panties. Jesus. “It’s okay. Now go on and unzip your trousers. Unless you need my help?” 

“No. I got it” Bucky is able to respond despite the fact his mouth has gone dry. Darla’s unfastened her brassiere.   
When he sees her breasts all Bucky can think about is how he’s certain Steve would love to sketch her. She’s so… symmetrical. Thankfully, Bucky has enough of his head about him to simply say, “You’re a sight, Doll.” 

Darla smiles down at him, directing the action by placing his hands on her breasts and then pulling down Bucky’s trousers and shorts down to his thighs. 

She feels good, Bucky thinks. And he really likes the way her hair dangles down around her pink cheeks. He’s somewhat fascinated with how her nipples have become hard under his fingers. But the task at hand hasn’t crossed his mind.

“Something wrong?” Darla asks. A crease of worry just above her nose. Steve looks the same way when he’s bothered. 

“What? No. This is good.” Bucky leans up to kiss her again but she indicates down with a disapproving expression. 

“Then what’s the problem? Don’t you think I’m pretty?” 

“Of course. I…” Shit. Nothing’s happening. 

“Well, you like girls don’t you? You’re not one of those funny sorta fellas?” 

Bucky thinks back to the panic of this morning when an erection came at the worst possible time- the way Brock had held him in position, the way Bucky could feel Brock’s breath on his neck. That’s all it takes. Bucky is ready. 

Darla does all the work, riding Bucky- not really paying him much attention, rather chasing her own pleasure. Which is fine, he supposes. Bucky keeps his eyes closed for most of it, pushing down the shame in favor of images of Brock’s muscles moving under his form fitting singlet. When it’s over she tells him to meet her back in the gym. After about twenty minutes, he finds her, looking fresh and relaxed. And they hit the floor until the last song plays. The sex had been good, really good, and he wants to do it again. But not with a girl.


	5. CH 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which highschool!Bucky and highschool!Steve visit a goat farm...  
> (No goats were harmed in the writing of this chapter). 
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> “Geez, Buck,” Steve snorts and with a jovial tone he asks, “A morning tug? Farming really gets your motor running, huh?”

May 1934. Western Pennsylvania

Fresh air, rest and lots of sunshine should not have been a difficult prescription to fill. After all, the Rogers family is lucky enough to live in one of the few Brooklyn tenements with decent ventilation for a pre-housing law structure. The weather is mild now that Spring has arrived. And Steve’s mom has been able to secure ongoing, double shifts at the indigent hospital so Steve would not have to find part time work during summer break. But, as Bucky has learned over the years, nothing comes easy for his best friend. 

This past winter Steve had been hit with a double blow of both rheumatic fever and pneumonia. And although he’s somehow managed to pull through, his recovery is taking much longer than the doctors had hoped. Steve isn’t the only one. The poor air quality along the eastern seaboard was contributing to a national health crisis. Mayor La Guardia had been able to muster support to revitalize an old park in the center of Manhattan to try and help increase oxygen in the area. He’d even reached out to FDR’s Civilian Conservation Corps to coordinate a tree-planting effort in the boroughs. But all that wasn’t going to help people who were currently sick. Getting Steve out of the city was more than just a strong recommendation.

The US Surgeon General had been touting the health benefits of country air, though Bucky’s father groused that those who could afford upper crust, suburban sanitariums and convalescent centers likely already owned vacation homes. In fact, it had been Mr. Barnes who’d spoken with Steve’s mother about having Steve join Bucky on a summer trip to Pennsylvania to help his sister during kidding season. 

Aunt Ida’s goat farm is out in the middle of nowhere, but it offers Steve exactly what he needs to recover. Thankfully, he’s free from infection, but his breathing is more labored than it should be. And the lingering joint pain from the fever has been making it difficult for him to do much more than walk to the corner market. 

“You hanging in there, buddy?” Bucky asks as Steve shifts in the train compartment seat next to him. 

“MmHm. Just a little cold. You mind if I use your jacket?” 

Bucky grabs his dad’s peacoat from the hook on the side of his seat and places it preciously over Steve.  
Steve gives him a half-hearted glare. 

Bucky knows Steve hates it when anyone fusses over him so he covers with an attempt at gallows humor. “Don’t give me that look. The wool this thing is made of weighs enough to crush your bag of bones.” 

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t have lost so much weight this time around, but I lost my appetite from having you hover over me all semester.” 

The truth is, Steve’s down to just over eighty pounds. Bucky hopes he can put some meat back on Steve thanks to his Aunt’s plentiful cupboard and amazing country cooking. Ida had married a wealthy Quaker in the early 1900s and since that time they built a successful dairy and butchery that has become an invaluable resource to poor folk living in tent cities scattered along the Pennsy Rail Line. Bucky had planned to make the trip out to the farm before Steve had taken ill. His uncle had passed away the year before so it was going to be all-hands on deck to help birth dozens of baby goats.  
“Trust me, once you taste Aunt Ida’s mutton stew we aren’t gonna be able to get you to quit eating. I won’t be surprised if you end up looking like Fatty Arbuckle.” 

“Can you imagine that!” Steve laughs “Me, but with a completely different body? I think your Aunt would have to feed me a magic potion to make that happen.” 

Bucky smiles and shakes his head, “Glad to see you’re getting your sense of humor back. I gotta admit. You’re kinda a louse when you’re in your sick bed.” Teasing has proven to be much better medicine than coddling when it came to Steve’s health. 

“You’re just too thick headed to realize I’ve been faking it this whole time so you’d quit trying to drag me on double dates.” 

“Oh, is that how it is?” Bucky replies in mock disdain. 

Steve answers with an air of bravado. “That’s how it is.” 

Bucky just shakes his head and silently tucks the coat behind Steve’s shoulders. In minutes Steve is asleep and Bucky’s once again left alone with his thoughts. 

Steve had nearly died this past year. And his illness had kept him in bed for over six months. This meant Bucky was on his own. If Steve had been up and around, then maybe Bucky would not have been so tempted. But soon after his date with Darla, Bucky felt a pull to understand more about what he wanted. Prohibition was over, and the pansy craze where rich folks flocked to see female impersonators in droves was winding down. But there had been enough news coverage of clubs that catered to bohemian life Greenwich Village that Bucky was able to make his way to find others like him. 

The encounters were mostly anonymous. Bucky looked older than his age and he could easily get into bars. He found that he preferred men who looked and acted like what he figured a man should look and act like. He liked being handled. He liked a strong grip on him. He liked the feel of stubble sliding across his skin. Once a man, who was likely as old as his own father, invited him back to his apartment, but Bucky declined. Getting jerked off in a backroom of a club or in a dark alley way was really all Bucky could handle. He’d managed a couple attempts at a sucking someone off. But, being on his knees that way scared him. It made what he was doing too real, and too difficult to explain away. He wanted more. But he also wanted to stop. In truth, he hated that he had developed what he classified as a “bad habit” and it seemed to be growing worse. 

A summer on the country would take care of it. That’s what he told himself. 

***

Bucky surveys the arrangement. Aunt Ida had situated an iron framed twin bed on her front porch to catch the morning the sun, she’d placed a night stand next to it with new sketch pads and pencils along with a pitcher of lemonade.

“You settled in?” Bucky asks as Steve lies back. 

“Yeah, this is swell. Your Aunt went all out. I’m never gonna be able to repay her.” 

“Just rest and get your strength back. Then you can help out and earn your keep.” 

“I’ll have none of that now.” Aunt Ida playfully admonishes as she walks back out on porch with two slices of apple pie. “Steve’s only job on this farm is to enjoy the fresh air and eat my cooking. You’re the one here for manual labor, Bucky.”

Steve huffs a laugh, “Lucky thing, he’s not good for much else. Other than sitting by my bedside whining at me to get better.” After taking a bite he earnestly states, “Ma’am this is delicious.” 

Meanwhile, Bucky gestures out at the rolling green acreage and teases, “I bring you all this, and that’s the thanks I get!”  
Steve gives a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, “Just eat your pie.” 

“Yes, listen to your friend, Bucky.” Ida adds, “After you’re done, go out to the barn, my other farmhands will show you the ropes. We’ve got thirty-six ewes that we’re going to have to help labor over the next couple months. It’s going to be a long summer.”

***

Ida seemingly has endless acres and countless goats to tend to. The work isn’t easy and Bucky would wager that throwing bails of hay, hauling jugs of milk and rounding up ornery, pregnant goats into their shelter is more intense physical labor than the dock-work he’ll be doing once he joins his dad’s union after graduation; especially as soon as the birthings begin. The part he can’t quite stomach is slaughtering. This is nothing new, Bucky has always been the sort of kid who would rather catch a spider and set it free outside instead of stomping it with his boot. Luckily, the farmhands just tease him about being a city boy and task him with driving provisions out to the Hooverville on the eastern edge of Ida’s farm instead of putting down goats for meat. 

Each morning he takes bottles of milk, soft cheese, and jerky out to the families who have been hit hardest by the Depression. At sunrise Bucky makes the ten-minute drive to the cluster of tents. The encampment is quiet at this time of day except for the occasional sound of a fussy baby. Today starts out the same as the others. He takes in the sweet smell of the cornfields down the road. The early fog is lifting and he enjoys the feel of dewy mist on his skin. No one comes out to greet him. He wonders if it’s because of the discomfort people feel at having to accept charity to keep their children fed. Bucky sends up a silent prayer on their behalf and gathers the empty milk bottles that have been placed near a garbage can. He then sets full bottles and several portions of jerky and cheese wrapped in wax paper and burlap in a common area in the center of a circle of tents. It’s when Bucky makes his way back to the truck that he spots it. 

Passing by the garbage can once again, something pale blue catches Bucky’s eye. He reaches into the can and looks at the small booklet. The cover reads, Slippery When Wet. Before Bucky opens it, he knows what this is. An 8-pager is what they call it back home, throughout the rest of the country it’s called either a Tijuana Bible or a Jo-Jo Book. Dirty drawings accompanied by a comedic story. He expects to see a woman with oversized breasts, a tiny, inhuman waist wearing a garter-belt and little else, but that is not at all what is depicted. The book offers something of a crude but funny set of instructions. The amateurish drawings feature one large man with a broad chest and a ridiculously huge bulge in his trousers using a forceful hand to bend over a smaller man with wide eyes and the shade of blushed cheeks. Bucky looks around to make sure he’s still alone and carefully thumbs through the remain pages that seem to demonstrate how to slick a man’s backside up to ready him to be fucked. On the last page the smaller man is yelping but has a blissed out look on his face while the larger man behind him is tightly gripping his hips with a wolfish predatory expression. 

Bucky knows about the different ways men have sex together. Hell, jokes and trash talking about Vaseline, knee grabbing and pillow biting are ever-present in his neighborhood. But seeing it drawn out, seeing two men like this, even in a silly, comic strip fashion has Bucky’s heart pounding. He loves it and that terrifies him. He shoves the booklet into the breast pocket of his jacket, drives back to the house and quietly makes his way down to his aunt’s cellar. Bucky should destroy the thing. Set it on fire. Or better yet he should have left it in the damned garbage where he found this piece of sin he’s now holding in the palm of his hand. Instead, he leans back against one of the arms of the rusted octopus furnace behind him and unzips his pants. 

He’s already hard, even before he touches himself. And he’s got all his focus on the drawing where the smaller man is looking back over his shoulder giving an encouraging grin more so to the reader than the man fucking him. Bucky’s eyes are locked on the book, he’s working himself to the edge so much so that he doesn’t hear Steve come down the stairs. 

“Geez, Buck,” Steve snorts and with a jovial tone he asks, “A morning tug? Farming really gets your motor running, huh?” 

Bucky is so startled that he trips backward, hits his head on the furnace and drops the book as he fumbles to put his dick in his pants. What happens next feels like slow motion. The 8pager slides across the floor and stops at Steve’s feet. Still laughing in a good spirited manner Steve picks up the book and suddenly his face drops. His eyes meet Bucky’s. Bucky is dying. He looks away but Bucky hears the confusion in Steve’s voice when he asks, “Buck? What’s this?” 

Bucky scrambles and takes the book from Steve’s hand. “Just some smut, Steve. It’s nothing.” Bucky attempts to feign irritation at being interrupted over the actual horror that he’s been found out. He should have known Steve won’t let it go. 

“Is that…what they’re doing in there…is that what you like, Buck?” 

Bucky tries to read Steve’s tone. No sense of disgust… worry maybe? Disappointment. Bucky sighs as soon as he musters the courage to meet Steve’s eyes again. His friend looks hurt. Betrayed. God damn it. This is Bucky’s sickness. Not something Steve should have had to deal with, Bucky had promised himself that. But now, looking at his best friend, Bucky couldn’t lie to him. “I’ve never done it, not that far, yet. But I probably will. Even if part of me wishes I didn’t want to.” 

“It’s illegal.” 

“I know.” 

“And dangerous.” 

“I know.” 

“You remember what happened to Claire Matheson’s brother?” Steve asks. His eyebrows worried together, arms crossed. Bucky remembers exactly what happened to their classmate’s brother. The boy had never been able to pass like Bucky has. A fairy, through and through. No hiding it. Less than six months ago a group of men used a broken soda pop bottle on him. He bled out with his pants around his ankles, lying in an alley, before the ambulance had arrived. The boy had been murdered. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The diocese wouldn’t give him funeral rites or let him be buried in the parish cemetery. Claire’s family had to move to escape the scandal of it all. 

Bucky feels like he’s about to vomit. But he offers a weak volley at Steve’s question. “I go into the city when I need to. I’ve never done anything with anyone from the neighborhood. I’m careful.”

“Cops raid the bars.” Steve’s voice is deadly calm. 

“Like I said, I’m careful.” Bucky insists. He wishes Steve would get on with it. Tell him they’re done being friends. Or, at the very least, deck him. Steve is small but he’s scrappy and he knows how to throw a punch. That’s what Bucky thinks is about to happen as Steve walks up to him. Bucky will take it, he reminds himself not to block. Take it right on the chin, Bucky tells himself. He deserves it. He is a pervert after all. What comes next shocks Bucky. 

Steve stands toe to toe with Bucky grabs his shirt collar and pulls him in for a bruising kiss. After a moment he says, “No strangers, Bucky. No alleys. You’ll get arrested or killed,” Steve’s voice cracks, “I can survive pneumonia and fevers and a shit can of a heart. But I cannot survive losing you. If something ever happened to you, I swear it. I’d throw myself in the river. You’re my best friend. Promise me. When you need this, you’ll come to me.” 

Bucky shakes his head and he’s still reeling from the kiss, “Steve. You don’t know what you’re offering-” But before Bucky can finish Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and presses it to his crotch. 

“Yes, I do. Buck. I’m not a child. We’d both be better off if you quit treating me like one.” 

Bucky gently pulls his hand away. He gives Steve a sad smile and replies. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like that. But Steve, this isn’t like the time I asked to copy your algebra homework. Like you said, it’s illegal.” Bucky realizes in that moment neither of them had said the actual words for what they were talking about. 

“Maybe one day it won’t be. Until then, we’ll be careful. I can’t help you win a brawl, not in my shape these days. But I can help with this” Steve asserts, puffing his shoulders up a bit, making himself look bigger than he is. None of this makes sense. Bucky has never let him even entertain the idea of thinking about Steve in this way. And now he’s offering himself up like a Christmas goose. It isn’t right. And yet…

Bucky brushes Steve’s hair off his forehead and tucks the long strands behind his right ear. Whatever might have happened next is stopped short at the call from Aunt Ida that breakfast is ready upstairs. 

***

May and June go by and Bucky is happier than he’s ever been in his entire life. He loves the summer, Pennsylvania air. He loves working with the ewes, helping to deliver the baby goats. He loves seeing Steve regain his strength and enough weight that his ribs and spine aren’t showing through taught skin. Most of all, Bucky loves that he doesn’t have to keep his secret from Steve anymore. 

Steve is, in a word, enthusiastic. He doesn’t give any indication that this is a chore, or just a favor. Bucky reasons it’s because, if nothing else, Steve is getting some practice. After all, all they’re doing is kissing. They sneak into the barn loft, the cab of the pickup truck, the cellar, with that junk of a furnace that’s all rusted out, where it all started. Bucky tries to not really consider that it’s Steve he’s doing this with, but it’s difficult. What the boy lacks in experience he certainly makes up for in talent. When he kisses Bucky it’s always something new. Sometime Steve cradles Bucky’s cheeks in his hands, sometimes he grips hard on his shoulders. And occasionally Steve rests his hands along Bucky’s waist, with a hint of things still to come. Neither of them talk about it. Not a word. They’re just on each other like a magnet whenever the coast is clear. It feels too good to be ashamed. And Steve isn’t brooding or mulling over troubles in the news. He seems happy too and for the first time in a while, by his standards, he’s healthy. 

It’s dusk and thankfully none of the goats are laboring at the moment so Bucky and Steve take a picnic out to the lake. They eat mostly in silence other than commenting on how great a cook Aunt Ida is. 

“What’d ya’ say we take a dip?” Bucky offers as he pulls off his shirt. 

“You go ahead. I want to get some practice on doing a landscape. There’s no view like this in Brooklyn.” Steve holds up his sketch pad and indicates to the low rolling hills behind the smooth clear body of water. Bucky nods and strips to his shorts. He gets a shock of cold when he wades into the lake a bit too quickly. He tries to brave it for a few minutes but when his teeth begin to chatter he gives up. As he heads back to picnic blanket he notices that Steve’s jaw has gone slack.

“You alright, pal? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“I need to draw you. You’re beautiful Buck. I always knew, but man. You belong in a museum.” Steve worries his bottom lip in his teeth. “Lie down on the blanket.” He instructs, almost in a daze. 

Bucky’s instinct is to crack wise. Make a joke of Steve’s serious tone. But something inside urges him to just follow Steve’s directions. “Like this?” Bucky asks as he’s settled down on his side perching his weight on his left elbow. 

“If I’m going to work on figure drawing I should go for detail.” 

“Okay. What do you need me to do?” Not following. He’s always tried to keep up with Steve’s knowledge and interest in art but he’s never been good with all the terminology. 

“The underwear. Take them off.” As an afterthought, Steve adds, “Please.” 

Bucky settles back on his side, this time, naked. “Be generous, will ya’ That water was freezing.” An attempt at a joke to hide how he’s suddenly self-conscience. 

“Be quiet. I have to hurry, we’re almost out of sunlight.” Steve admonishes. Bucky feels Steve’s tone in his gut. And then, well, being adolescent boy can be terrible, at times. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t draw you like that! I want this for my portfolio.” 

“I said, I was sorry.”

“Stop it.” 

“How’m I supposed to do that!” It’s hilarious, truly. Bucky’s lying there in his birthday suit. Steve, irritated as hell that his model has a boner. Then before Bucky realizes what’s happening Steve throws the sketch aside and has his long perfect fingers around Bucky’s cock. Bucky reaches around the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. Mostly though Bucky just moans into Steve’s mouth. He tries to compose himself, but it’s useless. “I’m not gonna last, Steve.” 

Steve rears slightly back and watches below as Bucky comes undone. When it’s over, Steve lies down beside him and looks up at the darkening evening sky. “I like making you feel good,” Steve quietly admits.

Bucky nuzzles into Steve’s neck, and peppers kisses behind his ear. “I want make you feel good, too.”

And so it goes for the rest of the summer. Happy, easy, and quiet. Bucky hopes against hope that it isn’t all too good to be true.


	6. CH 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which kid!Bucky meets kid!Steve
> 
>  
> 
> _The boy takes the rag, gingerly dabs his nose and shrugs. “It’ll heal.” He then looks up at Bucky and asks, “You think I’m gonna get a shiner?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Bucky surveys the pink swelling around the boy’s eyes. “Probably two pal, I gotta be honest, you’re a little guy, you should learn to when run away from a fight.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: So in doing research for my other fic in this series The World is Full Enough of Hurt I learned that the Brooklyn Dodgers went by the name of the Brooklyn Robins from 1914-1932. Beginning in the 1890s the original team name was the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers in reference to Brooklyn's resistance to replacing horse drawn carriages while the rest of New York was moving to electric trolleys.

August 1927 – Brooklyn, New York

Bucky had planned to play stick ball this morning, or more accurately, he’d planned to play-act baseball this morning. He and several of the other boys in the neighborhood have all been swept up in the New York Yankees’ extraordinary 1927 season. Of course, they’re all still true fans of their beloved Brooklyn Robins at heart, but no one can deny their admiring awe for Murderer’s Row— possibly the greatest line-up that Major League Baseball has or would ever see in all of history. Most of the kids in the neighborhood want to be Babe Ruth- they act out the player’s showy, bombastic nature in their games. The Babe, after all, is larger than life and the shadow he casts on the field is long.

Bucky, prefers to imagine himself as Lou Gehrig- a quiet, humble teammate who always nips at Babe’s heels coming closer and closer to his record-setting stats. Gehrig, like Lazarri and Combs, is a star player. But what he’s admired for most is the fact that he just always shows up and gets the job done. He never misses a game. He takes the field even when his hands are literally broken. And in the off season he’s doing his part for the kids back home in his neighborhood. For Bucky, Gehrig is the type of man he wants to be. Someone who doesn’t make a fuss, someone who can always be counted on, someone who is happy to let his teammates shine, someone who does his job. 

As much as Bucky wants to step up to the neighborhood plate as Gehrig this morning, he has to admit the sweltering heat is going to make the game a slog at best. Thankfully, some of the older boys manage to jimmy a fire hydrant open so Bucky, the other kids and adults who’d initially taken refuges in the shade of store fronts, all jump into the street to let the bursts of water cool them down. When Bucky is good and thoroughly drenched he heads back home, but he’s stopped short by the unmistakable sound of the O’Malley twins and the unsettling way one will start a sentence and the other will finish. 

“You had enough, pip squeak…”

“…or do you want more?” 

“Oh, you think you’re a tough guy…”

“…putting up your dukes like that? Ha!” 

A sense of alarm runs through Bucky. The twins are brawlers. Who ever is trying to face off with them is bound for a bruising. His concern is confirmed when Bucky makes his way into the alley. The twins are already gone, but he sees flailing legs struggling to find footing as someone tries to make their way out of a garbage can. 

“Let me give you a hand,” Bucky offers as he reaches into the can and attempts to grip on to a boy’s belt.

A hand bats Bucky away, “I can manage,” comes a gruff reply. 

Bucky takes a step back to give the boy room but he silently spots him in case the boy loses his balance, which he nearly does before Bucky steadies the can to keep it from toppling over and taking the boy with it. 

When the boy stands up Bucky can see that he’s taken a beating. He hands the boy a handkerchief to wipe his bloodied nose. “Doesn’t look broken, but you should put some ice on that.” 

The boy takes the rag, gingerly dabs his nose and shrugs. “It’ll heal.” He then looks up at Bucky and asks, “You think I’m gonna get a shiner?” 

Bucky surveys the pink swelling around the boy’s eyes. “Probably two pal, I gotta be honest, you’re a little guy, you should learn to when run away from a fight.” 

The boy squares his shoulders, “If, like the doctors say, the best I can hope for is to be a ninety-eight pound weakling when I grow up, then I figure have to learn how to take punch.”

 _Who is this kid_ Bucky thinks to himself, he then replies, “Hmm, well if you don’t mind me saying, you should learn how to throw a punch too. Your old man never tried to teach how to go fistacuffs?” 

The boy shakes his head, “It’s just me and my mom. Mustard gas got my dad.” 

“Golly, I’m sorry about that.” 

The boy shrugs, “We get by.” 

Changing the subject, Bucky offers, “Say, I was going to go get dried off and head over to the St Agnes rec center. If anyone can teach a fella how to fight it’s the Jesuits. I betcha Brother Anthony could give you some pointers.” 

“Yeah?”

“Sure thing. I’m James Barnes by the way, but my friends call me Bucky.” 

The boy offers out his hand, belying his youthful age, “Hi ‘ya Bucky. My name is Steve.” 

***

Bucky loves the gymnasium at St Agnes. He’s not quite strong enough to manage the medicine ball yet, but he’s aces at the jump rope. Brother Anthony has complimented his endurance and coordination on more than one occasion. Bucky also has a pretty good eye, that’s the real reason he likes to spend time here. The cool down area of the center has a dartboard. And Bucky’s precision is getting increasingly good. Soon enough, he may be able to win a game or two for some pocket money. Even though gambling is frowned upon at St Agnes the Brothers tend to turn a blind eye to harmless vices. He’s working on his stance, aim and three fingered grip while still within earshot of Steve’s lesson at the heavy bag.

Brother Anthony helps Steve position his feet and begins the instruction, “I don’t usually start training boys until they're ten, but by the looks of it you won’t make past nine years old if you don’t learn some of the ends and outs of street fighting. Remember, I’m not teaching you boxing, I know those little red headed beasts the O’Malley twins all too well, they’re gonna fight dirty and so you need to defend yourself. The best way to do that is to use your size to your advantage and make yourself as small as possible.” 

“How do you mean?” Bucky hears Steve ask. 

“You know baseball?”

“Yeah.” 

The Brother nods, “then the best way to protect yourself in a fight is to think about your strike zone, crouch down, keep your middle shrunk, then keep your fists up to guard your face. Don’t give them surface area to connect with.”

Steve practices positioning himself as he’s instructed then asks, “But I’m already small, how’m I gonna land a punch if I can’t reach their chin?” 

The Brother laughs, “Like I said I’m teaching you street fighting. That means you have to maximize your chances of taking down your opponent. Big guys tend to have two left feet, so do what you can to be quick that’ll likely get them off balance. Then be sure to take defensive measures whenever you can. Use anything you can find nearby to block their punches. Your best bet is to wear them out then get in a couple jabs. Save your swings until they’re tired and you have a clear shot at their kidneys. And I’d never object to using a knee to the groin. After all, there’s no below the belt penalty when you’re outside the ring. Now, let’s see what you’ve got kid.” 

Steve nods and lets loose on the heavy bag. His form is sloppy and there’s certainly no power behind his swings. But as Bucky looks on he clearly sees that Steve has relentless determination. Bucky can only imagine who Steve is fighting in his mind at this moment. Soon, Steve is dripping from head to toe with sweat struggling a bit to catch his breath. When the lesson ends Bucky walks up offering a towel. 

“I still say you’d be better off if you skedaddled instead of trying to be the next Jack Dempsey.” Bucky isn’t trying to be discouraging. He just finds himself genuinely concerned for Steve’s wellbeing.

Brother Anthony shakes his head and places a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Bucky, I’d say your friend, here, is right to stand his ground. If he starts running, they’re never going to let him stop.” 

***

As the boys walk home together they realize they only live two blocks apart. It’s sunset and the rule for most of the kids in the neighborhood is to be home for dinner when the streetlights come on. They chat easily and both are happy to discover that Gehrig is their favorite Yankee. 

“He just never gives up, that’s why they call him the Iron Horse, you know.” Bucky asserts. 

“I know. When my asthma starts to get the best of me he’s who I think about. If he can get out on first base no matter what then I can get out of bed and help my mom with chores and keep up with my school work.” 

“Sounds like you take on a lot.” 

“Not more than I can handle.” 

“There’s no harm taking it easy every now and then.” Bucky suggests. 

“I know. I had fun today.” Steve responds. He’s smiling up at Bucky with a fat nose and two black eyes. 

Bucky can’t help but smile back. “Say, my Pop is taking me out to Coney Island tomorrow. They’ve finally opened that new roller coaster. I cannot wait to go for a ride.” 

“The Cyclone?” Steve asks. His uncertainty about riding it is evident. 

Bucky slings a congenial arm over Steve’s shoulder. Oh come on. It will be great! It’s not like it’ll make you throw up or something. 

“Okay, Buck. I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I wanted to center this chapter around Steve being nine years old when Bucky meets him I was happy to discover that, that was the of the 1927 Yankees World Series victory and also the summer that the Cyclone opened on Coney Island.


	7. CH 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and Steve become roommates
> 
>  
> 
> _...you know I’m not gonna borrow a dime from you so don’t bother offering.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Steve’s words don’t come as a surprise to Bucky. Everyone in the neighborhood has the same sense of pride when it comes to making ends meet, especially these days. “I know you’re not a charity case, pal. It’s just…”_

November 1936 – Brooklyn, New York

  
After nearly eighteen months of having to scrape together dough from taking odd jobs and day labor Bucky finally has his union card. While the Mid Atlantic Dock Workers Association isn’t technically a closed shop, joining the Brotherhood is no easy task considering work is so hard to find these days. And despite his family ties, his dad being foreman and all, when spots open up they tend to go to fellas with mouths to feed. It helps that Bucky has earned the respect of men of Pier 12. He’s quick to laugh at a joke, he always has extra cigs to pass around and he punches his card on time. The work is boring but not as back breaking as it could be especially considering he’s one of the youngest men at the dock and is, therefore, bound to get the most unappealing assignments. Moving crate after crate on and off ships is hardly challenging so it creates the blessing and curse of having time to let his mind wander. Today, he finds himself playing the day of Mrs. Rogers’ funeral over and over his mind.

  
Steve and Bucky haven’t spoken in nearly three weeks, not since the day Steve buried his mother. Bucky is doing his best to give his friend the space he needs to grieve. But in his usual thickheaded fashion Steve is determined to make sure everyone in the neighborhood knows he’s no weakling who can’t take care of himself now that his mom has passed away. At least that’s what Bucky hopes is going on. His offer to stay with Steve at his apartment had fallen flat. It had been the closest Bucky had ever come to letting Steve know how he really felt- how he wasn’t going anywhere, how he could always count on him, how he’d be with him _till the end of the line._ Maybe in that declaration Bucky had gone too far?

  
Their summer in Pennsylvania had been just that— a summer. Stolen moments in Brooklyn were hard to come by. Then Bucky had started working while Steve had another year of school to finish. And when Steve’s mother took ill all his attention was rightfully on her. Back on the farm Bucky had made a rule for himself that he wouldn’t ever make an advance. Whenever they were alone together, he’d always wait for Steve to initiate, even if Bucky did take the wheel once things got started. He also never pushed Steve. Whatever they’d done, Steve started it- from that first kiss in Aunt Ida’s cellar. Bucky thinks about that kiss a lot. They’ve shared so many more since then, but that kiss- the one that told Bucky he wouldn’t lose Steve because of these wrong urges he has inside himself- that’s the kiss he thinks about most. But at this particular moment he wonders if his words have made Steve think twice about their arrangement. Or maybe now that he’s out of school too and having to make ends meet on his own he’s just getting busy building a life that he won’t have to keep secret.

  
It’s not like Bucky has no idea how Steve’s been doing this last month. After all, Bucky’s no slouch. He only allowed four days of radio silence before he bribed his kid sister into doing some reconnaissance. Each evening before dinner Rebecca fills Bucky in. Earlier this year Steve had found work lettering daily specials on store front windows that luckily happen to be along Rebecca’s route to school. And in the late afternoons he makes bakery deliveries to housewives who’re preparing their evening meals on Barnes family’s block. So far, Bucky’s sister has earned over two dollars for reporting that Steve seems to be alright. He hasn’t missed work, he doesn’t look too skinny and he hasn’t coughed any more than regular that she’s noticed. He has the same scowl, that even twelve-year-old Becca reads as someone who takes life too seriously. So, Bucky has had to discern that despite Steve’s loss, his mood is what’s to be expected.

  
Maybe it was just bad timing, Bucky is thinking. Steve is a hard read even when his feelings are in over drive. Maybe Bucky hadn’t overstepped that day at Steve’s door. That’s what’s on Bucky’s mind when he hears Rebecca’s scream.

  
“Bucky!! Come quick!” Rebecca calls as she runs up the dock, dodging past the bewildered security guard.

  
Bucky meets her half way up the plank. His heart pounding with alarm, “Bec, what is it?”

  
“It’s Steve, he took a wallop. It’s real bad. You gotta’ come.”

  
Bucky drops the ship’s manifest and without a thought he runs off the pier. He hears a distant call from one of the men to clock out but he pays it no attention.

  
To his relief, when Bucky finds Steve on the sidewalk down the block from his apartment he’s at least on his feet. Steve is gripping to his side, likely due to cracked ribs, and his face is a bloodied mess. Bucky fights his overwhelming need to rush up to Steve and check him over from head to toe. Instead, he slows to a light jog and affects a what he hopes just looks like a chummy smile.

  
When Bucky reaches Steve’s side he belies his panic with a simple quip, “Two black eyes and a busted nose. Just like the day I met ‘cha. Careful Steve, you’re gonna make me all nostalgic.”

  
“We wouldn’t want that,” Steve huffs a laugh and immediately winces- holding on to his side tighter, “Guess I shoulda listened better to Brother Anthony. From now on I’m definitely gonna find something to block their punches.”

  
“A suit of armor?” Bucky offers.

  
“Eh, that’s overkill.” Steve volleys.

  
Bucky notices that Steve’s smile isn’t reaching his eyes. “You gonna live?”

  
“Yeah, yeah. Not sure where though.” Steve replies. Bucky’s confused brow apparently urges Steve on, “They took my rent money. Mr. Dawson is itching to kick me out so he can raise the rent for a new tenant. If I’m late he’s gonna boot me no doubt.”

  
“How much you owe? I’m not quite flush but maybe I could help out.”

  
“Seventeen dollars,” Steve grouses as he gingerly makes his way up the stairs of his front stoop with Bucky in tow. “And before you say another word, you know I’m not gonna borrow a dime from you so don’t bother offering.”

  
Steve’s words don’t come as a surprise to Bucky. Everyone in the neighborhood has the same sense of pride when it comes to making ends meet, especially these days. “I know you’re not a charity case, pal. It’s just…”

  
“What?” Steve asks as he walks through his front door and silently waves Bucky in.

  
Bucky looks around the living room. He knows Steve’s mother slept in here on a rollaway cot so she wouldn’t wake Steve when she came home from her night shifts. The railroad floorplan was typical of Brooklyn tenements- a living room leading directly to a kitchen with a bathtub doubling as a breakfast table, thanks to a handy slab of wood, then in the back a tiny wash closet and a single bedroom. “Well, I’ve been socking away some dough- I’m pretty sure it’s enough to cover my share of first and last month’s, that is unless you think being roommates would cramp your style?”

  
Steve forgoes a turn in their typical, sarcastic banter. Instead he simply asks, “You want to live, here, with me?”

  
Bucky can’t quite read Steve’s tone and his face is too much of a quickly swelling mess to offer any hint at the thoughts behind his words. So, Bucky avoids being too earnest in reply. “As long as you don’t take as long in the bathroom as Becca you’d be doing me a favor. I nearly went blind when I saw her brassiere hanging on the shower rod last week.”

  
Steve shrugs, “splitting the rent would help me with tuition. Not that I’m going to need it right away.”

  
“I thought your interview with Art Department Dean was next week.”

  
“It was, but they stole my portfolio too. I got nothing to show. No pieces I can get ready in time at least.”

  
Bucky’s heart hurts for Steve. He’s lost his mother, all of his art and his shot at going to college all in the past month. Still he stands there like a rock. Not even hinting that he’s going to break. “Listen, I’ll go take the rent to Mr. Dawson right now. You get cleaned up and rest. We’ll figure out the school stuff together. Okay?”

  
Steve nods. “Thanks Buck. I mean it.”

  
Bucky, not trusting his own words, just offers a quick wink in reply then heads out the door.

  
***

  
Bucky makes up the time he missed checking on Steve so he heads off his shift an hour later than usual. It’s a strike of luck he thinks to himself as he sees two men walking towards Tiny’s Pub. He doesn’t recognize either of the men but what catches Bucky’s eye is a thin but oversized cardboard folder tied shut with twine. It’s unmistakably Steve’s makeshift portfolio. Bucky waits a couple beats and then follows them into the bar. Once inside he sits a few stools down, orders and nurses a beer. He watches on as the men have the gall to flash around what’s obviously Steve’s cash and order a round of drinks for the bar. Bucky isn’t angry. In fact, he’s calm. Deadly calm. Resolute. Determined.

  
Two hours later the men exit the bar out the back door and Bucky follows them into the alley. Stealthily. Efficient. In a flash he’s got one in a sleeper hold. The man quickly falls unconscious. Bucky then wraps a dishrag he swiped from the bar around the knuckles of his right hand and begins to ruthlessly pound the other man.

  
In seconds, the man is loses his balance as he helplessly tries to swing back at Bucky. “You’re gonna kill me!” The man shouts.

  
Bucky pauses and replies. “No. I’m just going to make you wish you were dead.” He kneels down starts beating the man again as he continues. “I’m going to make sure you’re too scared to ever lay a finger on anyone in this neighborhood again.”

When Bucky starts to tire from hitting the man he finishes as he grabs the wad of Steve’s cash and his portfolio and says, “Now take your friend and get the hell out of here. And if I ever catch wind that you’ve stolen anything from anyone I’m going to find you and I’m going to finish the job.” Bucky stands up and give the man a dismissive kick in the side. “Now scram!”

  
It’s not until he is walking back to Steve’s apartment that Bucky’s heart starts to race. He’s never been a violent man. Rather, he’s always been the sort to avoid a scrape with some of his easy charm and humor. He’d like to blame rage on what he’s done but that’s just it. He didn’t feel rage. He didn’t feel anything at all except a need to get what was left of Steve’s money and his art back— both of which he succeeded in doing. _It’s not mugging if the goods are stolen, is it,_ he wonders.

  
***

  
Bucky strips down to his shorts, relieves himself and washes his hands, face and underarms. He’ll have to get used to not having a shower to use. Steve only has a tub. Bucky internally corrects himself, _we only have a tub._ He came straight to what is now their apartment after a quick stop at a corner pay phone to let his folks know he wouldn’t be home tonight. He’ll break the news that he’s moving out tomorrow. His mother will make a fuss, his pop will be proud and his sister will mope. Bucky will promise to always show up on time for Sunday dinner.

  
This is good, Bucky thinks to himself. _I can do this. I’m not being selfish. I’m helping Steve out. I got his art back and I can help him get into college. I’m not doing this for me._ He laughs for being such a lousy liar he can’t even convince himself that this new living arrangement is anything but self indulgent. He’s living with Steve. His Steve.

Bucky opens the door to the wash closet as quietly as he can.

  
Still, Steve stirs in the double bed that had once been his parents’ decades before. “Bucky? Will you stay in here with me?” Steve asks as he pull back the blanket offering the space behind himself.

  
Bucky replies by silently walking around to the open side of the bed and crawling in.

  
“You mind if I lean back against you? My ribs are still smarting something awful. I don’t want to roll over on them in my sleep.”

  
Bucky gently pull Steve back against him.

  
In a whisper Steve says, “I’m glad I don’t have to live, here, by myself, Bucky.”

  
“Long as I’m breathing, you won’t ever have to be alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'm I doing? Let me know in the comments! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky gets called up...
> 
>  
> 
> _The last thing Bucky wants to do is go to war. It’s not because he’s afraid of dying. He’s afraid of killing. He’s afraid of how killing will inevitably change him._

CH 8

  
November, 1942 Brooklyn

  
Bucky’s number is up. He’s known it’d only be a matter of time. That’s what he had told Steve after Pearl Harbor. “I don’t need to volunteer. If the Army wants me, they’ll come for me.” Of course, that was a half-truth, at best. If Bucky had had the guts to be honest with himself he’d have admitted that nothing short of Hitler setting up base camp under the Statue of Liberty’s skirt would make Bucky want to join the fight. Even before FDR instituted the draft nearly half of his crew at the docks had gone ahead and enlisted. Not Bucky. The last thing Bucky wants to do is go to war. It’s not because he’s afraid of dying. He’s afraid of killing. He’s afraid of how killing will inevitably change him. He’s afraid of this lethal thing deep inside himself that seems to be scratching to break the surface. This isn’t something he’s ever been able to put into words. He only knows that although he hates violence, he’s very good at it.

  
Now his induction date is just five days away and Bucky’s determined to make the most of this last week at home. He’s spent the past few hours searching market after market throughout the borough to find all of the ingredients for Steve’s mom’s pineapple upside down cake recipe. They’ll bake it tonight. Bucky starts to smile to himself at the thought of sitting down at his folks’ table for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, but his gallows humor gets the best of him when he thinks, “a last supper.” After this war ends, if he manages to survive it, Bucky knows in his gut he won’t be Bucky anymore. And then there’s Steve.

  
Winter’s coming fast and as self-reliant as Steve tries to be, he knows shit-all about staving off a cold. With Bucky gone, who’s gonna make sure he wears his cap and mittens? Who’s gonna remind him to keeps his socks on the radiator so his feet stay warm? “Wouldn’t that be just our luck,” Bucky’s thinks grimly, “I’m the one who’ll have bullets flying at me, but Steve will end up six feet under when he gets hit with another case of double pneumonia.”

  
He shakes himself out his spiraling worry and makes his way into Minelli’s Corner Store. After two unsuccessful attempts to find pineapple Bucky had called ahead and asked if they could hold a can for him behind the counter. Sure enough, Mrs. Minelli has the tart canned fruit waiting him, but as Bucky is about to pay he says, “oh uh, I forgot. I need one more thing.”

  
When Bucky returns to the cash register Mrs. Minelli tsks with disapproval, “Son, you should real use butter for the cake, this vegetable shortening isn’t going to give you the consistency you want.”

  
Bucky stomach lurches, “Naw, it’s not for the cake, ma’am. Just restocking the cupboard is all.” It isn’t technically a lie. Though he and Steve don’t keep the shortening in the cupboard, they keep it hidden in a drawer in the beside table. Bucky can feel the red heat of embarrassment creeping up onto his face as he hands over his money so he thanks Mrs. Minelli and quickly makes his way out of the store and down the block. He has a forty-five minute walk home. That gives Bucky plenty of time to think about what he’d be using the shortening for later tonight.

  
Of course, it had been Steve who’d suggested it back in ’37. Bucky wouldn’t have dared.  
“You bought a girly mag?” Bucky had asked as he thumbed through the magazine that had laid open next to Steve’s easel “I knew you’d wise up eventually.” He had been teasing, of course, but it was something Bucky had both hoped for and dreaded.

  
“Stop it.” Steve admonished as he tidied up his art supplies. “You know it’s for my figure drawing assignment. My hand started cramping before I could work on the model’s breasts during class. This is the only way I can finish.”

  
“You’ve certainly got several pair to choose from,” Bucky offered as he continued to flip through the pages of the magazine. He was surprised to see several articles in addition to the glossy black and white photographs of partially nude women with come-hither expressions on their faces.

  
Steve put away his sketch pencils then turned to Bucky.

  
“What?” Bucky asked, mockingly abashed.

  
“You see something in there you like?” A smirk played on Steve’s lips.

  
“Sadly, I think these gals’ charms are lost on me.” Bucky sighed while clearly enjoying the banter.

  
“The girls, maybe. The advice column could be useful for us, though. Page fifty-two.”

  
Bucky’s interest had been piqued. He turned to the back of the magazine and the title of the article in the column immediately caught his eye. “Make a Smooth Back Door Entrance” it read. Bucky’s eyes shot up to Steve who casually nodded toward the kitchen counter where a lone cannister of shortening stood.

  
The memory of that first time with Steve thrums through Bucky as he turns the corner onto their block. Having Steve that way, completely, even just the thought of it always fills Bucky with a surge of arousal that’s quickly chased by guilt. It’s the real reason why Bucky’s been setting up double dates for them, lately. He says it’s because they need to avoid suspicion. And that dancing with a pretty dame is better than jumping rope or tossing the medicine ball— gotta be sure he’s fit if he’s going make it through Basic. In reality, Bucky is desperate to find someone for Steve. A nice girl who can see what a good man Steve is. He can’t leave Steve on his own. He won’t. When he heard his birthday called in the War Department's draft lottery broadcast Bucky began doing all he could to try and make his absence an easier adjustment for Steve. But Bucky should have known that would go over like a ton of bricks with his best friend.

  
Bucky arrives home to find Steve seething. He’s standing in the center of the living area, with his arms crossed and scowl that tells Bucky he’s in for an earful. “Hey there, Steve” he offers lightly, hoping to lessen the impending blow. It doesn’t work.

  
“The bank called today, Buck.”

  
“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks, feigning innocence.

  
“MmHm. Mrs. Jenkins told me I had to come in and sign some paperwork so the Army could deposit your Homefront Allotment in my account.”

  
Bucky stays silent. He knows when Steve gets like this there’s no point reasoning with him. Stubborn jackass.

  
“I looked like a fool sitting in the waiting area with other fellas’ gals and mothers who’d been called in to do their paperwork too.”

  
“Steve. Come on. You know I wasn’t trying to put you in a bad spot.” Bucky tries.

  
Steve shakes his head. “I don’t need looking after.”

  
“I never said you did.”

  
“And I’m not your wife.”

  
The bitterness in Steve’s tone stings Bucky. He knows its way below the belt but Bucky bites back, “Could’ve fooled me!”

  
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  
Bucky notices Steve’s hands have balled into fists.

  
“You’re so humiliated because I set things up to give you my share of OUR expenses, but you’re not bothered at all by…” Bucky pauses a moment and lowers his voice to a whisper. It’s all he can do to keep his own anger in check, “by the things you let me do to you. I never hear you complaining that I treat you like my wife when we’re in the bedroom.” Bucky can see that his words have struck Steve. A shocked look crosses his face followed by a subtle softening of his otherwise tense posture.

  
Steve sounds defeated when he answers. “Buck, you have no idea what it’s like to be me. My mother was nineteen when my dad died. She was just a girl but she never took a cent from anyone to make ends meet.”

  
“Times were different then, Steve. Not like cash has been easy to come by the last few years.” Bucky offers, mirroring Steve’s softer tone.

  
“It’s not just that. You and I never talk about it, ever. But, what we do in bed? There’s a reason I’m not ashamed of it.”

  
Bucky has lost his words but the expression on his face urges Steve to continue.  
“Buck. When you’re— when you’re inside me, that’s the only time my body doesn’t hurt. It’s the only time I’m not aching from sickness. When we’re together that way I don’t feel myself. I only feel you.”

  
The raw sound of Steve’s voice wrecks Bucky. In an instant they close the space between them and hold each other. Steve buries his face in Bucky’s chest as Bucky kisses the top of his head to sooth him. It’s too much for them both. Bucky steps back so he can look at Steve and cradle his face in his hands. That’s when feels it— a lump just behind’s Steve’s ear. A lump that shouldn’t be there.

  
***

  
It’s nearly five AM and Bucky is staring into the cooling cup of coffee a kind nurse had brought to him before sneaking him into the recovery ward to sit by Steve’s bed.  
The fact that Sarah Rogers is still well remembered here means Steve is regularly afforded more than just the occasional perk. On Bucky’s insistence, Steve had called Dr. Westmore the night before, he explained that he’d found a lump and within hours he was in surgery for a biopsy. And all on the night before Thanksgiving.

While Bucky is definitely grateful that Steve is getting VIP treatment he can’t help but also be angry. He looks on as Steve sleeps off his anesthesia and wonders aloud, “Can’t you catch a break in life, just once? Just one time, can’t things go your way, Steve? If you’re sick, really sick, how am I supposed to keep my head in the game once I’m out on the battlefield? How are either of us supposed to stay alive through all this? It’s not fair. I wish to God I didn’t have to leave you.”

  
Bucky’s startled by a soft baritone voice coming from behind him.

  
“Thought I might find you here.” Dr Westmore quietly states with a tired but easy smile.  
“Doctor. I uh, can go back out to the waiting area if you want” his clearly tone indicating that he hopes he can stay.

  
“No need. I’m not going to cross Nurse Andrews. If she let you in, who am I to say otherwise?” Dr. Westmore leans in for a friendly conspiratorial whisper, “You didn’t hear it from me but she’s the one who really runs things in this place. And I’m just the holiday weekend help.” Dr Westmore had officially retired five years ago but he still has privileges at several New York hospitals and he’s continued to care for a couple of his regular patients, including Steve.  
Bucky rises to shake the doctor’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for fast tracking the biopsy.”

  
“Best we see what we’re dealing with as quickly as possible.”

  
“Yeah, of course,” Bucky answers and then before he even realizes it he finds himself admitting, “I have to report to the induction center at 0700 on Tuesday morning. I don’t want to leave without knowing he’s in good hands.”

  
The doctor is quiet for a moment then says, “I remember how adamant you were to make sure I was doing everything possible for Steve when he had pneumonia last year. So fiercely protective. You care for him a great deal, I can see.”

  
Something in the doctor’s tone puts Bucky on guard. It isn’t accusatory. Rather, it’s knowing, perhaps? “Well yeah, we’ve been best pals since we were kids.”

  
“Ah yes. Best pals,” Doctor Westmore nods, “My gardener, Jefferson, and I have been best pals for over forty years. Though truth be told, he retired two decades ago.”

  
Bucky takes a step back. He catches the implication and immediately the panic sets in. He’s never been called out so directly before. He easily passes for normal among regular folk. And Queers are usually much subtler. He knows he tends to catch the eye of other men like him but that’s different. This isn’t a pass the doctor is making, this is much more dangerous. He’s suggesting he and Steve are a couple. “It’s not like that between us. We’re not… Steve’s not…”

A sad expression sets on the doctor’s face. “Son, take a breath. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  
“I’m not upset.”

  
“Okay, well if you’ll indulge an old man who has seen and experienced a lot in this world, may I ask you a question?”

  
Bucky nods. His hackles up.

  
“Does he know how you feel about him?”

  
“He knows he’s my best friend.”

  
“That’s not what I asked.”

  
This was too much. In an angry whisper Bucky asks, “I don’t see how any of this is your business.”

  
“It’s my business because you’re shipping out soon and if the lab results come back positive Steve’s going to need every ounce of strength he has to fight.”

  
“Doc, you know that nobody is more of a fighter than Steve.”

  
Resigned, Dr Westmore responds, “Bucky, I just don’t want either of you to leave something unsaid. Not when there’s so much uncertainty ahead for you both.”

  
Bucky remains silent as the doctor’s words wash over him. How does he feel about Steve? He’s never even let himself ask the question. What they do together is one thing. An indulgence. Can men even feel that way for each other? They can’t have a life like a man and a woman can, can they? Maybe if you are a blue blood from the country club set, where people’s proclivities are dismissed as “eccentricities.” But if you’re a kid from the neighborhood your options are limited. He and Steve have already taken more than their share of happiness. And maybe now the bill is coming due. Resolved, Bucky answers.

  
“There’s nothing that needs saying between me and Steve. What’s ever headed our way, we’ll deal with it.”

  
Before Dr Westmore can answer a bleary eyed lab technician comes through the ward door and says, “My boss told me to bring this right to you, Doctor.”

  
The doctor takes a manila folder from the technician and silently reads the report.

  
Bucky holds his breath.

  
“The lymph was reacting to an untreated sinus infection.”

  
“Doc, what does that mean?”

  
“It means the lump is benign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about the shortening and some of terminology used in the chapter were inspired by info I read in an ethnography of gay men who lived in NY in the 1930s


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they break Bucky...
> 
> _“Maybe they’ll kill me,” the prisoner thinks. He knows better than to hope. Hope causes hesitation. All emotion other than the need to complete his missions is an obstacle he is told he must overcome._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non-graphic mentions of torture.

 

CH 9

Day 831 – Soviet Hydra base – Siberia

“My name is Bucky.” The prisoner says this to himself every morning when he awakes. It’s more than a routine, it’s an anchor to a life that has been slipping through his fingers. He’s beginning to want to let go. Is that what Bucky would do, the prisoner wonders? His mind has fractured. He knows he was called Bucky before, but he not sure that person even really exists. 

They broke his body first, mutilated him, starved him, tortured him when he didn’t follow orders. Next, they began building him back up into a monster that he doesn’t even recognize. He’s lethal, but well controlled. He’s strapped into a collar with a kill switch that he’s been told will drop him in a second should he use his skills against his handlers ever again.

Now, they’re chipping away at his mind. The process is slow but increasingly hard to resist. He actually feels relief when he is dragged from his cell to Dr Ivchenco’s quarters. He speaks Russian, which the prisoner can understand and speak though he has no memory of learning the language. Ivchenco’s voice is soft and soothing. The prisoner wonders if this is what kindness is. He’s not certain anymore.

“Have you been fed today, Prisoner?”

The prisoner shakes his head “No” in response. His eyes are downcast, but he glances up to see Ivchenco nod to the guard at the door. A few moments later the guard returns with a steaming bowl of meat and vegetable stew. The prisoner looks up at the doctor, silently asking permission to eat.

“Go ahead. Our sessions are always much more fruitful when you have a full belly.”

The prisoner takes a large spoon from the bowl and gracelessly begins shoveling the meal into his mouth with his prosthetic limb. A requirement. He must use it regularly and then have it calibrated to eventually function at optimal performance.

“You’re doing much better with the arm, I see.”

“Thank you,” The prisoner responds in English between mouthfuls.

“Let’s try Italian today.”

“Thank you” he responds again, this time in Italian as instructed.

The doctor waits silently as the prisoner finishes his meal and sets the spoon by the side of the bowl.

The guard comes and clears the table in front of the prisoner and then leaves the room.

The prisoner hears the door lock behind him.

Once again in Italian, Ivchenco asks, “Now where did we leave off in our last session?”

“You’re helping me find peace.”

“That’s right, and how are we going accomplish that?”

“I am letting go of my burdens.”

“And what are you burdens?”

“Anything that hinders me from accomplishing my mission.”

“And what is your mission?”

“To follow orders without hesitation.”

“What happens when you hesitate?”

“I’m punished.”

“That’s correct.” Ivchencho writes something down in a red notebook with a black star on the cover. “Now, tell me about what happened on your most recent training mission.”

The prisoner stays silent. He wrings his hands as his breath hitches.

“Did you hesitate?”

“Yes.”

“What was the mission?”

“I was told to eliminate failing recruits.”

“Recruits not suitable to serve Hydra and Mother Russia?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you hesitate?”

“They were female youths, not more than twelve years old. They reminded me of something from before.” The prisoner’s tone was one of confusion. For the first time the prisoner looks up to meet Ivchenko’s eye, “Did I have a sister?”

“Does it matter if you had a sister?”

“No.” The reply comes automatically. Nothing from before matters. He’s been told that countless times. He’s not sure he believes it, but he’s not supposed to question what Ivchenco or his handlers tell him. Ivechenco is the only one who hasn’t beaten him. He doesn’t want to disappoint the doctor.

***

Day 912

“My name is Bucky.” The prisoner says it aloud. He’s not sure which language he’s speaking. English maybe? He says it in barely a whisper, but it’s a crucial act of defiance as he sits in own filth while strapped to the chair. He can feel the electricity still burning inside his head.  

“We’re ready to go again.” He hears a technician say. Someone else forces a piece of leather in his mouth to keep him from biting off his own tongue when the convulsions come. It’s the fourth cycle. The most the prisoner has ever been given in a single day.  “Maybe they’ll kill me,” the prisoner thinks. He knows better than to hope. Hope causes hesitation. All emotion other than the need to complete his missions is an obstacle he is told he must overcome. The prisoner hears the activation switches toggle on. He braces himself. But nothing happens. He opens his eyes to find that Dr. Ivchenco has entered the room and his speaking in hushed tones to his handlers. The prisoner discerns from the doctor’s body language that he’s arguing with the men who run this part of his conditioning.

Suddenly, the prisoner is unfastened from the chair, unceremoniously stripped nude and hosed down.

“There’s no need to be so brutal!” Dr Ivchenco shouts. “No wonder his progress has stalled. You’re all beasts! This man is to be Mother Russia’s greatest asset. And his is how you treat him?”

A handler replies, “You mean he’s to be Hydra’s greatest asset. Isn’t that correct doctor?”

The prisoner notices the handler is speaking in German.

The doctor replies in kind, “Is there a difference between Hydra and our great and victorious Soviet Union anymore?”

The two men continue to bicker, though the prisoner cannot make out what they’re saying. Once he’s been washed and dressed he’s taken to a room he’s never been in before. There’s a large ornately carved wooden desk, a plush sofa, several bookshelves and a thick set of red drapes hanging over the windows on the far wall. The prisoner remains standing; not having been told he has permission to be seated. A few moments later Dr. Ivchenco enters the room.

“I apologize, profusely. If I had known that which you were made to endure this morning I would have arrived to stop the procedures much sooner. Are you well?”

The prisoner is trembling. “I… I am not sure.”

“Did they harm you during the cycles?”

“No. I’m not injured. But, the handlers, they showed me something from before.” The prisoner struggles to say the words. He’s not supposed to have feelings, nonetheless he continues, “They called it a newsreel. It was upsetting.”

“And what was in the newsreel?”

“A man. A soldier. He committed suicide during the war. Put his plane in the ocean. The handlers told me the man killed himself because his lover had died.” The soldier’s voice was hollow like he was speaking into a bottomless well.

“Why does this information upset you?” Ivchenco asks.

The prisoner isn’t certain but he thinks he notices a smile playing on the doctor’s lips. “I think I was the one. I think I was the one the man in the film loved.”

“This upsets you?”

The prisoner nods then says, “I think I loved him too. I think he was the one person I ever loved.”

***

Day 937

The prisoner sits down in the chair without a struggle. He’d been given a sedative earlier that day. He opens his mouth to receive the leather strap as a metal helmet attached to several wires is placed on his head. The technicians work to connect electrodes to his body while the handlers have gathered around Dr. Ivchenco each waiting a turn to shake his hand.

One handler says, “I have to admit I questioned your methods at times: hypnosis, psychotherapy, alternating negative and positive reinforcement but you seem to have done it.”

“A true accomplishment,” another handler adds.

Dr. Ivchenco holds his hands up, “Let us not celebrate just yet. We still have to complete this last test.” The doctor then walks up to the chair, “Tell me you’re name.”

“The asset has no name.” The prisoner replies.

“Ah yes, pardon me. I misspoke. Tell me your codename.”

“Code name: Winter Soldier.”

Dr. Ivchecho smiles broadly and takes out his red notebook from brief case. “Excellent. Let us begin.”


	10. CH 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and Steve have a long overdue conversation. 
> 
>  
> 
> _“I was unfair to you. And I took advantage—"_
> 
>  
> 
> _“No, you didn’t I wanted to—”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Christ Steve. Let me finish.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Steve huffs. But stays quiet._

CH 10

December 2016. Birnin Zana, Wakanda- The Capital City

Bucky walks into the small ante-chamber just outside Shuri’s lab. He’s flanked by six of the most intimidating women he’s ever seen in this life— their bald heads gleaming under the room’s ambient light fixtures.  He studies what looks to be their tribal wear. Tactical Gear? Yes. Likely, impenetrable. Bullet proof. Bucky’s mind makes easy work of prepping a six-to-one combat strategy while accounting for his missing prosthetic. Earlier models of the arm had malfunctioned on more than just the rare occasion. It’d never made him any less lethal. He hasn’t seen much of the palace, but Bucky guesses that the corridors don’t follow any sort of traditional architectural design. He’d have to rely on his experience infiltrating bases of operation in the Afgan mountain caves. Bucky knows that his exit strategy, formed in a split second, is just a well engrained means of self-preservation. He doesn’t need to escape. He’s safe. Everyone here is trying to help him. Still, this fact doesn’t nothing to put his mind at ease.

Steve and Shuri are already inside the room. Steve’s wearing a forced smile that’s not the least bit convincing. Shuri, however, has a toothy grin, all confidence. So, against his better judgement, Bucky lets himself take a breath.

Shuri speaks first, “Please don’t be alarmed by all the precautions. My brother has been going a bit overboard when it comes to security these days.”

Bucky had overheard the lab techs chatter about how a pretender to the throne had tried to unseat T’Challa. He’d almost succeeded. “No worries, Doc. If those words are still stuck in my head, you’re gonna need all this security and then some.”

One of the royal guard, the leader he supposes, scoffs. A smirk plays on her lips. “I assure you Sergeant, you wouldn’t stand a chance against the Dora Milaje. To think otherwise is an insult to Wakanda.”

Bucky raises his hand in a conceding gesture. A decades old Brooklyn accent dancing over his words, “I didn’t mean to offend you gals, really. Nerves got me cracking wise is all.”

“That’s right. Don’t listen to a word he says,” Steve adds as walks up and slings an arm over Bucky’s shoulder, “He’s been a blockhead for as long as I’ve known him.”

Bucky gives Steve a nudge then leans in and whispers, “If things get FUBAR, you take me down before I hurt anyone. Swear it.”

Steve makes the slightest nod. It’s all Bucky needs.

The Dora shackle Bucky’s feet to the floor. Steve pats him on the back he then takes a few steps back as the women cuff Bucky’s wrist and waist and fasten him to far wall of the room. They then form a semi-circle around Bucky taking aim with what look to be blow darts. His eyes meet Shuri’s.

Her smile is still there when she explains, “It’s a tranquilizer we use when one of our Rhino herd gets a little too enthusiastic. Again, just a precaution. Now do you have any questions, before we begin?”

Bucky shakes his head. He then locks eyes with Steve and musters an expression that seems to give Steve the reassurance he needs. If only Bucky believed this was going to work, himself.

“Now just relax, Sergeant Barnes. This will all be over in just a moment.”

“I just… I just want to be Bucky again,” he admits before closing his eyes. He can’t bear to look at Steve, not during this.

Shuri clears her throat then begins, “longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, freight car.”

The room is silent except for what he recognizes as Steve’s breath hitching. He keeps his eyes closed. Not trusting his mind. Not trusting that he has control. But he does. Nothing’s happening. He’s still here. He’s still himself. But before the relief comes Bucky is hit with it. All of it. Every memory they took from him— all the pieces of his life he’s been slowly putting back together since the day of the Helicarrier. The memories don’t feel like they’re from another century they feel like it all just happened yesterday. The shock of it all grips Bucky’s chest. He wretches out a strangled cry.

Instantly, Steve is at Bucky’s side. “Buck! Bucky talk to me!”

Bucky collapses in his bonds; his body slumped against wall. Steve wraps nearly his whole body around him as Bucky sobs, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Steve. I’m so sorry!”

***

Despite their hushed tone Bucky can hear Steve and Shuri in a heated conversation. They think he’s still sleeping. He listens in.

“I thought you said the procedure was safe.”

“It is safe. Captain Rogers, everything went just as planned.”

“You planned for him to have a breakdown in front of everyone? What did you do to him?” Steve’s not yelling but he’s angry. Bucky can tell.

“What you saw in there wasn’t from my procedure or from the programming— it was likely, what you would have called in your day, a form of Shell Shock. His mind and body have endured unspeakable trauma. It will take time and a great deal of work on his part for him to heal.”

Upon hearing Steve’s heavy sigh Bucky has to stop the conversation. He’s too embarrassed and ashamed of all of it for anyone to even mention all he’s done and all that’s been done to him. So, Bucky opens his eyes and sits up on the exam table where he’d been sleeping, “Anybody know where a fella washup in this place? I think I’m starting to really stink up the joint.”

Steve turns in his direction. And in an instant Steve’s wearing the first genuine smile Bucky’s seen from him in a very long while. “There’s a tub in my quarters that’s just about as big as the lap pool at the St Agnes Rec Center.”

Bucky’s smiles in return, “Well, lead the way. Unless the Doc there has some magic laser that can permanently wipe out body odor?”

Shuri laughs, “Sorry to say, even my genius has its limits.”

Bucky’s glad to see that they’re not fussing over him after what had happened earlier that day. Though as he follows Steve down the hallways, he notices that the Dora aren’t meeting his eye. He hopes it’s a sign of knowing empathy from warrior to warrior.

When Bucky and Steve find themselves alone in the bathroom an awkward silence builds between them.  

Steve makes a reaching gesture toward Bucky, “Do you need hand with uh…” he indicates toward Bucky’s undershirt and sleep pants.

“The one hand I still got is enough,” Bucky replies lightly. He grabs the waistband of his shirt and pulls it over his head, but not before seeing Steve roll his eyes at his response. Good. Bucky thinks. Keeping Steve vaguely annoyed is something that rings true to his memories of their days back in Brooklyn.  What isn’t familiar, though, is the way Steve averts his eyes then turns his back as Bucky steps out of his sleep pants.

Bucky pads over to the deep tub that’s sunken into the floor. It’s filled with steaming water and flower petals float on the surface.  Steve makes work of gathering towels and soap from a nearby wall of cabinets. He doesn’t turn back until Bucky is seated shoulder deep in the water.

Steve sets the towels on the edge of the tub and says, “I think the water comes from a hot mountain spring. It’s always full like this.”

“Reminds me of that place Dum Dum found outside Maremma. Near Tuscany I think it was?”

Steve laughs then sits down on the bathroom floor and absently wets and soaps up a wash cloth for Bucky as he says., “Oh man. That place was incredible! I didn’t even know natural hot springs existed before then.”  

“God, it’d been weeks since any of us had had more than splash of cold water on our faces and under our pits to get clean.”

“The Howlies acted like they’d died and gone to heaven.” Steve answers then falls quiet again.

After a beat Bucky musters the courage to ask, “Were they able to get on with things after? Make lives for themselves? Have families?”

Steve nods. “Every damn one of them,” The pride he held for his those under his command is evident in his tone.

“The Howlies were a good bunch of fellas,” Bucky offers as an ache of melancholy starts to thread through him. He attempts to shake it away by dipping his head under the water to wet his hair. Once he’s seated upright again he reaches for the shampoo, silently hands it to Steve and then settles back resting his neck along the edge of the tub.

Steve soaps up his hands then starts massaging Bucky’s scalp. It’s all Bucky can do to keep from moaning at the pleasure he feels. He opts for distracting banter. “I used to do this for you if memories serves.”

“MmmHmm. But, only when I was so sick that I couldn’t lift my arms to my head.”

“At least you had two arms.”

Steve actually snorts at that one. “True, but you could have had it even worse.”

Bucky’s relieved that Steve so easily takes his cue. “And how do you figure that?” Bucky asks in a playfully incredulously tone.

“You coulda been a southpaw.”

At that comment both men burst into hearty laughter. It feels good. Really good. Good enough that for a moment Bucky foolishly thinks he can really get through this. That he’s going to be okay. That’s when the memories come.  Memories from before and after mixing together. Faces, names, missions, ice, blood, pain, words. None closer or more distant than the next. Everything is here with him. In the present.  He doesn’t know how much time has past before he finally hears Steve.

“…cky? Bucky? Where’d you go? You still with me?”

Bucky takes the wash cloth and scrubs it over his face for a moment before answering, “Yeah. I’m here. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He can’t talk about all of it, but he’s not going to lie. Not to Steve. It makes it easier that Steve’s behind him outside the tub. “When we fought. When we fought on the helicarrier.”

“Aw. Buck. We don’t have to—”

“No.” Bucky turns in the water to face Steve. “We do have to talk about it. I need to.”

Steve’s eyebrows worry together but he nods for Bucky to continue.

“You said I was your friend.”

“You were. You are.”

Bucky shakes his head. He can’t make sense of any sort of timeline but he knows what he remembers, “That’s just it though. We weren’t friends. We were something more, weren’t we?”  Bucky’s heart is pounding in his chest as he waits for Steve to answer.

“We didn’t have a name for it. But, you said it was kid-stuff. That we had to grow out of it.”

The memory burns the back of Bucky’s eyes lack a flash. The freight car. This was something he could change. Something he could make right. Steve may have moved on. But, he can’t let Steve think none of it mattered. He steps up out of the tub and sits on the edge next to Steve.

Water splashes over Steve’s jeans but he doesn’t appear to notice. His eyes are fixed on Bucky.

“I was unfair to you. And I took advantage—"

“No, you didn’t I wanted to—”

“Christ Steve. Let me finish.”

Steve huffs. But stays quiet.

“I took advantage of the fact that you were always the one to start things up between us.  I never had to be brave. Not like you. I’ve seen you do some crazy things over the years but that first time you kissed me? I could have never been that brave. Hell, it took being literally tortured for me to even be able to admit to myself how I feel.”

“How do you feel?” Steve asks. His face in a tangle of emotion.

Bucky reaches up and holds Steve’s cheek in his hand then smiles, “I love you, you dumb jerk. Always have. Always will.”

Steve leans his forehead to Bucky’s. In a whisper he replies, “Who’s the brave one now?”

“That all you got to say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll make you wait eighty years to hear it.” 

“Asshole.”

“Hey that’s Captain Asshole, to you.”

“Sir, yes sir. Bucky laughs out, but he is stopped short when Steve’s lips meet his. The kiss is chaste but perfect.

Steve threads his fingers through Bucky’s hair then says, “I’ve been in love with you since I was just a scrawny sixteen-year-old kid in Brooklyn.”

***

If Bucky’s life had been a movie the credits would have rolled there, with a heart felt declaration between two people who’d spent more than a lifetime silently loving each other. But this is real life. And happily ever after doesn’t come that easy. Steve still has his own war to fight. He has a team, a family really, that he needs to protect and lead. He needs to put right the mistakes he’s made. There’s work left to be done.  

And although Bucky finally has Hydra out of his head, it doesn’t mean his mind is his. Not really. Not yet. Shuri calls it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder— something common among veterans, especially prisoners of war. She’s called in specialists to teach him how do retrain his mind. He has to learn how to manage the nightmares and the flashbacks and the mood swings— all of which she’s said will continue for a while. While explaining all of this one day, Shuri asks, “tell me about a time or place where you were the happiest.”

“My Aunt Ida’s.” Bucky can close his eyes and actually smell the sweet dewy fields and hear the bleating call of the goats in his charge.

“The farm?” Shuri asks.

Bucky remembers that Shuri has likely seen his entire life when she was freeing him from the trigger words.

“That’s right.”

Again with that grin of hers she responds, “Well, if you don’t mind some hard work I think I can help you recapture some of that happiness.”

Some of that happiness.

***

“You understand, don’t you?” Steve asks as he fastens the shoulder panels down on his suit. It’s seen better days. Stark’s kid isn’t around to constantly upgrade the gear anymore.

“Of course. They need you.” Bucky knows that Steve would never leave the field when the mission isn’t complete. And from the way he tells it, there’s more fighting headed his way. A lot more. “Romanoff’s intel is solid?”

“Yes. Debris from New York is showing up all over the black market. It seems another underground weapons manufacturer using Chitauri tech is popping up every day.” Steve explains. Bucky can hear the sense of guilt in Steve’s voice.

“You know that’s not your fault.” Bucky says, “But I get it. You still feel responsible.” He watches as Steve starts to busy himself by double checking his go-bag.

“It’s more than that. You saw what those Hydra weapons could do. Turns out they were powered by alien technology of sorts. If enough of that kind of tech ever got into the wrong hands it’d be game over.” Steve stops packing and motions toward himself. “The whole reason the Army gave me this body, this power, is to give the good guys a fighting chance. I can’t sit this one out.”

Bucky walks up to Steve and wraps his arm around Steve’s waist, “Like I said, I get it. Just know, I’ll be here, whenever you need some R&R. You got the coordinates?”

“2600 meters, 0° 30°”

Bucky nods, “Make sure you come in steady or you’ll smash to bits on the dome.”

Steve leans into Bucky’s touch and nuzzles into his neck, “We wouldn’t want that.”

 “Definitely not. I’ve got plans for you once I get settled into my new place.”

“Farmer Bucky. Gonna send out for a pair of overalls?” Steve teases as he starts planting little kisses along Bucky’s shoulders.

“I don’t know. I might try out some of the local fashion. For while at least,” Bucky answers as takes in the of scent of Steve. He notices that Steve isn’t shy about kissing and touching the metal casing that covers what was once his left shoulder.

Bucky’s not surprised when Steve asks, “How’s Shuri coming along with your new prosthetic?”

“Actually, I asked her to hold off on that.”

Again with the worried look Steve asks, “How come? Won’t that make taking care of your goats, I don’t know, a challenge, at least?”

“Well yeah, but I need to be just me while I’m getting things sorted in my head. That arm was a weapon. That’s all it was good for.”

“I saw you in action with it. It protected you too. A weapon or a tool, it’s a matter of perspective.”

Bucky nods and rests his hand on Steve chest. He wants to ask him to stay. He’s earned his right to retire regardless of whatever threat might be coming. But that’s not who Steve is, and Bucky would never ask him to be anything other than himself. That doesn’t mean Bucky can’t do his part to look after Steve, even it’s something small.

Bucky traces along the star on the front of his suit, “Is this impact resistant? Bullet proof?”

“The undergirding that lines the suit is. The star is just an adornment from the original design.”

“It’s also a sniper’s wet dream,” Bucky replies. He tucks his finger under the edge of one of the points and silently looks to Steve for permission to remove the star. After Steve nods an affirmative Bucky rips it off. “I’ve been wanting to do that since ’43. I can’t believe Nat’s let you get away with wearing it for this long.” Bucky grimaces just a bit at his note of familiarity. His connection to Romanoff is her story to tell. Not his. Bucky covers by holding on to the star and smiling, “I’ll make sure the goats don’t eat it while you’re away.”

“Gee thanks,” Steve responds in a long suffering tone.

Bucky sees that Steve’s got something else to say, “What is it Rogers? I’ve never known you to be one who’s at a loss for words.”

“I don’t want to jinx us. Luck’s never really been on our side.”

“We’re still here after a hundred years. I’d say that’s pretty lucky.”

Bucky waits and after a few moments Steve asks, “Is it something we say now?”

“I should have said it to you— hundreds, thousands of times. It was true long before I ever even knew it was possible.”

That ridiculous lopsided grin takes over Steve’s face when he says, “Then let me have it.”

Bucky gives a dramatic sigh and after rolling his eyes he settles. Then, with all the truth and heart he could muster Bucky says, “I love you, Steve Rogers.”

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

It feels so good to hear it, it feels even better to say it. The kiss Steve then gives him tells Bucky everything else he needs to know. Steve is his. They belong to each other. In their kiss Bucky feels all the times Steve's lips have been on his. He remembers the deliciously wicked things Steve can do with his mouth. He remembers every time Steve gave himself over so completely, without fear or shame or guilt. Bucky hopes one day he'll be able to show Steve that he knows how special what they have is. One day Bucky will prove to Steve that this thing between them was never about making time or indulging in something that they shouldn't. Love isn't wrong. Bucky understands that now.

Steve reluctantly lets go of Bucky— his hands reaching up once more to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

Then, as Steve turns to leave Bucky says, “Come home safe. I’ll be waiting.”  

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've turned this into a series called The Such Men Lived.
> 
> Part 2 and Part 3 are Post this fic. Part 2- The Sweet Simple Things of Life is the love scene you've probably been waiting for. 
> 
> Part 3 - Movie Night is a a little piece where Shuri and Bucky are bonding while Steve's off with his team on a mission. 
> 
> Part 4 - The World is Full Enough of Hurt is a companion piece to this fic but it's told from Steve's perspective and it fleshes out before-after moments of the chapters in A Soul Submerged in Sleep. :) 
> 
> Comments are love. Let me know what you think. Sorry for the VERY long hiatus thanks to those of you who waited for me to actually finish. Hugs and love. Qaffangyrl

**Author's Note:**

> My fic titled The World Is Full Enough of Hurt fleshes out this story with extended and new scenes told from Steve's point of view. So if you want more visit that fic!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! Thank you for reading.


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